


Mere Mortal, Standing in the Sun

by Aequoria, theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Causal Loops, Cute Prompto Argentum, Endgame Promdyn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Loves Prompto Argentum, Good Ardyn Izunia, Healer!Ardyn, Husbands of Future Past, Like... by a Lot, Love Triangles, M/M, Oh worm, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Temporal Paradox, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, Trans Prompto Argentum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-10-17 19:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoria/pseuds/Aequoria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Prompto rings in his twenty-second birthday alone in the dark. After a seemingly chance run-in with Pryna, he awakens to an unfamiliar world filled with sunlight and people he doesn't recognise.He's still in Lucis, but not the Lucis he knows — and everything he believes to be true is about to change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! This fic started as a plot bunny for some delicious Promnus that rapidly got out of hand and turned into... this! Episode Ardyn Prologue will probably come along and joss all of the lore in this, so we thought we'd get the ball rolling and share it with you all!
> 
> Thank you for reading :D

Prompto turns twenty-two years old on the edge of an inactive haven, guns in hand and bleeding sluggishly from his arm.

The only way he realises this is the little beep his digital watch makes as it marks the hour, and the bright shift of 24/10 to 25/10 on the face. Without sunlight, it’s the only way to keep track of the days. He makes quick work of the goblin in front of him, and takes a moment to breathe in the short break before another daemon inevitably spawns.

“Happy birthday to me,” he sings to himself, as cheerily as he can manage.

It’s not very convincing.

He squats on the edge of the rock, crouched in case he needs to run, and checks his phone for any messages. Used to be that he’d get a birthday greeting from Ignis at midnight, on the dot, every year since the day he befriended Noctis. Gladio would follow at around six in the morning, and Noct...

He pockets his phone. He doesn’t expect any messages anyway; the last time he’d spoken to the other two was about a month ago when they’d all run into each other in Lestallum. There’s not much reason for them to meet again. A part of Prompto aches at that, but he knows they all have different jobs to do.

More importantly, when they’re not together, the empty space where Noct should be is a little less painful.

Prompto shakes his head and stands, looking around. No sign of the fleeing refugees he’d been called to rescue— except that his torch beam shines on an exposed piece of metal, which on closer inspection is a broken phone, next to shallow claw marks. He’s too late.

“Damn,” he says, just to fill the silence. Just to say _something_ to respect the lives lost here, before he leaves them, nameless, to be covered in dust.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle a warning. His gun is out; he spins around-

“Tiny?”

Pryna— _Tiny—_ trots up to him and barks once. He reaches down, petting her soft fur, and despite everything, smiles.

“Hey girl,” he murmurs. “Come to wish me happy birthday?”

She whines and nuzzles into his hand. Her paw bumps at his knee. It might be his imagination, but the already dark night only looks like it’s getting darker.

“What did you come to do?” he asks. The edges of his vision start to crumble away like a dust storm.

She looks at him with that warm stare she’s always had for him. She rests her paws on his shoulders, and _pushes-_

* * *

Prompto wakes up in full sunlight with a shout.

He jolts upwards and stares around in confusion. There’s— _light,_ everywhere he looks, and green grass underneath him, and sweet-smelling flowers all around. The air is humid and hot and the sky looks strangely solid. When he gets to his feet, he realises he is standing in a massive greenhouse.

He must be dead. There is no way there is a greenhouse this huge, with natural sunlight— not to mention all these ornamental plants that would just take up precious resources. He pinches himself.

“Ow. Okay, not dead. I think.” He spins around slowly, still in awe at these things he never thought he would see again in his lifetime. Scratch that, he’s probably _never_ seen a garden as beautiful as this, not even in the Citadel.

He cups his hands over his mouth. “Tiny? Tiny! Are you here?”

There’s a commotion somewhere near the wall, and two tall, weirdly-dressed men emerge from the hedges and level swords at him.

“Hey, wait,” Prompto says, taking a step back. He doesn’t think it’s wise to reach for his gun just yet. “Uh. I’m Prompto, from Hammerhead. I don’t know how I got here. Where am I? What is this place?”

One of the men— guards?— looks at him suspiciously. “I’ve never heard of Hammerhead.”

“The... the garage? I work with Cid and Cindy.” Not even a hint of recognition. Prompto licks his lips nervously. He has no idea what’s happening. “I rescue survivors.”

At that, the guards look at each other. They lower their weapons but they don’t put them away, and Prompto doesn’t resist when they take his arms.

He _does_ start to resist when they lead him out of the greenhouse and down a long corridor unlike anything he’d ever seen in the Citadel. It’s patched in places, new, gleaming stone laid over old. It looks like a partially-finished palace. He has no idea what this place is, and no idea why Tiny would have brought him here. But the guards are strong, and he doesn’t really want to get killed before he finds out what his mission— because it has to be a mission— is.

At the end of the corridor is a set of giant, ornate doors, which look too new for the walls on either side of it. The guards throw it open, and Prompto comes face to face with a ghost.

“Noct,” he whispers.

The man on the throne looks up as Prompto enters. His eyes— _Noct’s_ blue eyes— lock onto Prompto, and the expression he wears morphs from mild irritation over being interrupted, to interest.

“Well then,” he says, and his voice is— different, somehow. “What’s this?”

Everything about him is different, though— from the strange robes he wears, to the way he sits forward in his throne to inspect Prompto. If this is Noct, he’s all wrong. Even the way he lifts an eyebrow with curiosity seems off.

“Found him in the gardens, Your Highness,” one of the guards says, standing at attention. “He claims he’s from Hammerhead.”

“Hammerhead?” the man echoes. “Who are you? What is your business here?”

“I’m Prompto Argentum, your... Your Highness.” He says it tentatively, watching Not-Noct closely. “I help with the rescue efforts.”

With the light streaming in through the windows, he’s not sure they’ll even know what he’s talking about.

Of course, the eyebrow only seems to arch all the higher, and the man leans forward so far to study Prompto that he might just fall from his very fancy throne.

He maintains his poise, however, and he looks very elegant doing so. Definitely not Noct.

“Rescue efforts?” The way this man— a prince, if the form of address is to be trusted— repeats people's words, it almost sounds like he's mocking. “Do you come from the Land of the Mist? Your Lucian's rather good for a barbarian. Of course, if you're here to request aid for your people, I'm afraid you'll have to take it up with the _king.”_

Prompto takes a step back. He has no idea what the Land of the Mist is, or who the king is— except the prince had mentioned Lucis. Whatever else has happened here, he’s _home,_ and he needs to find out what’s going on.

“Who are you?” he asks. It comes out more confident than he feels. “Who is the king here?”

“Haven't you heard?”

The prince rises from his seat; his strange blue skirt... _thing_ billows around him, falling just above his ankles.

“The gods saw fit to bestow upon the humble peoples of Lucis a Crystal, and a crown,” he says. He gives a bow, which would seem sarcastic in how flamboyant it is if not for how _earnest_ he seems about the whole thing. “Prince Somnus Lucis Caelum, brother of the Founder King.”

When he rises, he steadily takes the steps down from the throne, moving closer to Prompto. “Allow me to be the one to formally welcome you to the kingdom of Lucis, Prompto Argentum.”

“The _Founder King?”_  he squeaks, and he barely even registers Somnus approaching. “Oh man. Oh man oh man.”

Somnus gives an exasperated sigh. He's scarcely feet away now, and he gives Prompto an appraising look from head to toe— his glance settles at last on Prompto's face, where the prince meets his eye with a smile.

“My dear brother prefers the fit of a healer's robes to the crown,” he says. "Our gracious king should be returning from pilgrimage soon, if he interests you that much."

He extends a hand, beckoning— his smile is sugar-sweet now.

“Of course, if you'd like to get your bearings, I'd be more than happy to show you around.”

Prompto hesitates. There’s something niggling at the back of his mind— some long-forgotten thing, buried in the pressures of _staying alive-_ but he doesn’t know what it is, and it’s less important than figuring out what he’s doing here in the first place.

He takes Somnus’ hand.

A satisfied smile curls its way onto Somnus' lips as he gently clasps Prompto's hand. He lifts it, as if to press it to his lips— but then his glance falls upon the wound on Prompto's arm and his eyes go wide with worry.

“You're hurt,” he exclaims. He slips his hand up Prompto's arm, sensually almost, and lets it hover just over the injury. “Please, allow me.”

“Um,” Prompto says, flustered. He’d completely forgotten about the injury; it’s only a minor thing, especially in comparison to everything that’s happened. But he nods slowly, even though Somnus’ touch makes him shiver.

Somnus wears an easy smile as he clasps Prompto's arm with one hand, and gently lowers the other over the cut. He's not touching it, not quite— his palm is a hair's breadth away, enough for the warmth of him to soak into Prompto's skin.

He closes his eyes in concentration, and the warmth from his hand seems to bloom, growing and spreading up towards Prompto's shoulder and down towards his wrist.

Prompto doesn’t move, just watching with wide eyes as Somnus heals him without any potions. The cut on his arm disappears without even a scar.

_Like an Oracle,_ he thinks to himself, looking at Somnus with awe.

“That was so neat! Thank you!” he says with a bright smile.

It seems that the prince is entirely self-satisifed as he removes his hands to inspect his work— although his touch lingers as it slips down Prompto's arm, before pulling away altogether.

He extends his hand once more to Prompto, with a bow of his head this time.

“Now,” he says. “Shall we? There's so much to show you before dark.”

_Before dark._ Somnus has no idea. Prompto resists the urge to burst into hysterical giggles, because really, it’s not the first time that Pryna has landed him in these unbelievable, possibly unreal visions.

He puts his hand in Somnus’, and lets the prince lead him out into the light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we are super blown away by the response to the first chapter!! Thank you to everyone who’s subscribed, bookmarked, kudosed, commented, or read. It means a lot! ❤️
> 
> Without further ado— chapter two!

The arrival of the strange young man from the Land of the Mist is a welcome reprieve from the monotony of palace life. As prince regent, Somnus has the power to enact laws and maintain the peace in his brother’s absence — which can so often be long, on his pilgrimages to heal the ailing — but still Somnus craves _more._

Prompto is… different. _New._ As a stranger to the lands of Lucis, there’s so much that Somnus wants to show him; he can’t quite help lavishing the finest luxuries upon him, even providing him with the finest of guest quarters within the old wing of the palace itself, not terribly far from Somnus’s own chambers.

As much as Prompto might be a momentary distraction, Somnus wonders if there isn’t a lot that the blond might be able to teach _him,_ too: from Prompto’s unusual manner of speaking, to the downright peculiar clothes he wears, it seems there’s a great deal Somnus doesn’t know about the people of the lands from which he hails.

Somnus arrives at Prompto’s door after the sun has already sunk beneath the horizon. He had servants provide his guest with hot water with which to bathe after his travels, and fresh, sumptuous robes of dusky blue to dress in. Somnus is particularly interested to see Prompto in such finery. His own clothes are… not to the prince’s taste.

With a glance at the guards posted outside Prompto’s chambers — at the royal advisor’s suggestion, lest Somnus forget that this man is a stranger in these lands — Somnus raises his hand and raps gently on the door.

“Coming,” he hears faintly from within.  
  
Prompto opens the door, resplendent in the finery Somnus has provided for him. He is beautiful in that strange, foreign way of his, but he pulls at the robe bashfully. “I wasn’t sure how to put it on. I hope I did it right.”

Somnus sweeps his glance over Prompto. It’s a good look for the foreigner — the blue sets off his rosy complexion, and brings out the colour of his eyes. With his golden hair, he looks so vibrant, so full of life — so _unlike_ the dismal courtiers in their muted garb.

“It’s perfect,” Somnus says. “You look just the part.”

True, Prompto’s hair is still in that odd, spiky style of his, but there’s not much to be done about that.

“I wondered if you might like to join me for supper,” he says. “They say a man sleeps best on a full stomach.”

The growl of Prompto’s belly is answer enough. Prompto laughs, covering his face with one hand. “I guess that’s pretty much decided then.”

Somnus gives a laugh of delight. Such strange mannerisms this young man has — strange, and yet, oddly… _endearing._

He extends an arm for Prompto to slip his own through, with a nod down the hallway.

“Usually I take supper in my quarters,” he says, “but I thought you might like to dine under the stars tonight.”

An odd look passes over Prompto’s face, but it disappears before Somnus can decipher it. “I think I’d like that very much,” Prompto murmurs. “I feel like I haven’t seen the stars in a long time.”  
  
To Somnus’s surprise, it is Prompto who extends his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”

Prompto’s words about the stars niggle at the prince. Something lost in translation, perhaps.

“Would you tell me of your home, Prompto?” Somnus asks as they walk, arm in arm, through the torch-lit hallways of the palace. Somnus’s pace is steady and unrushed; they have all evening, after all, to go at their leisure.

Prompto is quiet for a moment, something Somnus has gathered is unusual for the man. “It was beautiful,” he says, staring at nothing as though lost in some fond memory. “Used to be, at least. I feel like I never really found home until I left it, but then... then something happened, and it was never the same again.”

Prompto’s words don’t hit close to home, yet Somnus can almost _feel_ the weight of Prompto’s loss, whatever it might be. It’s unsettling to see this seemingly cheerful man momentarily somber — when Somnus thinks back to their first meeting, he recalls the foreigner saying something about “rescue efforts”.

“And then you came here,” Somnus muses. His pageantry slips, just subtly. He knows what it means to see one’s home ravaged by disaster.

“Was it the Starscourge?” he asks. “I’ve yet to hear of a land that hasn’t been tainted by its touch.”

Prompto turns wide eyes on him, suddenly alert. “There’s Starscourge here too?”

It’s such a drastic shift in demeanour that Somnus can’t help but wonder if Prompto had hoped to find somewhere the Scourge had yet to reach; bitterly, Somnus doubts there is such a place.

They pass along the balcony above the grand hall, headed for the terrace garden at the rear of the palace.

“Sadly, yes — even here,” the prince says. “My brother spends most of his days travelling far and wide to purify the people. You might say it’s his _divine_ calling.”

“He sounds very kind.” The wistful expression is back. Prompto shakes his head, as if to physically ward off whatever memories haunt him. “I... can’t really talk about home right now. Tell me about Lucis!”

Somnus sighs.

_My brother, the martyr._

“The kingdom stretches from the mountains in the north to the southern shores,” he says — with a touch of pride in his voice. He gestures to the walls of the palace around them, older structures reinforced with newer stonework. “We built much of our civilisation on the ruins of those who came before us.”

“It’s amazing,” Prompto says. “How long has it been since you started settling in the ruins? If you’re the founders of Lucis, what happened to the people before you?”

Somnus opens his mouth in surprise. Prompto must have come such a long way if the fate of the Land of the Sun is unknown to him.

“They turned their back on the gods, and were punished for it,” Somnus says. “Legend goes that they betrayed Ifrit, and in their hubris their own vile creations turned against them. They were wiped out by the Scourge.”

They’re at the double doors leading out to the terrace garden now; Somnus pauses just before it, and the guards stationed on either side bow low.

“Our people settled the ruins generations ago,” he says, “and we’ve lived with their legacy — the daemons — ever since.”

Prompto’s fingers tighten where they wrap around his arm. “And now, you’ve founded a kingdom...” His voice is filled with wonder. His eyes, when they meet Somnus’, are bright and shining with an emotion he cannot name. “You are going to do such amazing things.”

Somnus knows — knows, deep down — that Prompto’s words only praise his brother. Yet to hear them, to hear such awe in this young man’s voice, it’s difficult not to be flattered. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks; he glances away.

“I’m looking forward to showing you more of Lucis, if you’ll allow me,” he says.

“Absolutely!” Prompto bounces on his feet. “Show me everything!”

With a flick of Somnus’s wrist, the guards posted on the entrance move to open the double doors.

Revealed beyond is the terrace — a lush rooftop garden, with vivid night-blooming flowers that fill the air with their intoxicating perfume. At the centre of it all is a low table, with pads on which to sit, one across from the other.

The table itself is overburdened with food, a true feast prepared for Somnus’s road-weary guest: whole roast pheasants sit on silver dishes, steeped in fragrant broth; bowls upon bowls are filled with luscious fruit from near and far; there are freshly-baked breads, and curried vegetables, and even confections waiting for dessert, should Prompto’s appetite still go unsated.

“Oh. My. _Gosh.”_ Somnus doesn’t even know what that _means._ Prompto looks as though he is restraining himself from running to the table. “Is this really for us?”

Somnus gives a laugh of delight. He’s never seen such a visceral reaction to _food —_ although he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t intended to impress his guest a little.

“Of course,” he says, allowing a bemused smile to cross his lips. “Who else would it be for? You’ve come such a long way to grace our kingdom with your—”

He pauses; he’d meant to say _beauty,_ trite as it would have been.

“Your exuberance,” he says, at last.

Prompto blushes prettily at that, then gently tugs Somnus towards the table. “Can we start? Please? It looks so good!”

With another elated laugh, Somnus gestures for Prompto to go ahead, taking his own seat on one side of the table and folding his legs neatly beneath him as he sits.

The terrace garden is all lit up with braziers and lanterns, casting a flickering glow across the surrounding flowers; with so many lights about the daemons are kept at bay, although there are guards lurking just out of sight, within the shadows.

“Please,” he says, gesturing to the other seat. “Help yourself.”

Prompto takes a seat, folding his legs to mirror Somnus, although not quite managing. He gives an embarrassed smile and says, “Just so you know, I’m not really good with etiquette and stuff.”  
  
And with that, Prompto descends upon the feast like a man possessed. With every other bite of food, he lets out a moan of absolute _delight._  
  
“This is amazing,” Prompto says, muffled behind a sweet roll. “I haven’t had anything this good in so long!”

Well-versed in etiquette or not, it’s been so long since Somnus has actually _socialised_ with someone — someone who wasn’t his brother, or a courtier, or someone seeking to petition the crown, all of which hardly count.

“My brother and I grew up in a small village,” he says. “It was our people’s custom that we’d never turn away hungry mouths, so we had all sorts of travellers at our table. _Etiquette_ is all very good and well at court, but it doesn’t tell you the measure of a man.”

Prompto attempts to wash down the roll with a gulp of wine, but it is evidently too strong for him. He makes a face, but still finds it in himself to smile at Somnus. “You know what? That’s how I can tell you’re a great guy!”

Somnus can’t help but wonder if the foreigner is always this enthusiastic — not that he minds.

He’s considerably more moderate as he eats and drinks, taking small bites and sips.

“I’m starting to get a similar feeling about you, Prompto.”

Prompto’s entire face goes pink, but he laughs it off. “Thanks. Um, hey, do you have anything like, weaker than this wine?” He holds up his goblet. “I’ve not actually eaten much for a really long time — like, a year — and this is starting to go to my head.”

Somnus feels a jolt of guilt. _Of course._

He raises his hands and claps them; a servant, another body hidden out of sight, steps into view, and comes to bow at the prince’s side.

“Water, for our guest.”

He turns his attention back to Prompto as the servant scurries away.

“You know,” he says, levelling Prompto with a shrewd glance. “You never did tell me what it was that brought you to Lucis. Did you wish for an audience with the king?”

“Um.” Prompto hesitates and looks down at his plate. His fingers drum a tense beat on the table. “I didn’t, actually. It was kind of an accident. I lost someone, you see, and then I sort of... lost myself. And then somehow, I ended up here.”

Something about Prompto’s tone, about the way he holds himself, makes Somnus think this _someone_ of which he speaks was someone special. With a pang of remorse for Prompto’s loss, the prince sighs and looks down at the goblet in his hand.

“Maybe it was fate that brought you here, then.”

With a wry grin, he lifts his glance to look at Prompto.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure whether to trust you when you were dragged into the throne room,” he says. “My advisor still thinks I’m a fool for giving you food and a bed to sleep in. But how could I turn someone away who was so clearly in need?”

“You’re a kind person,” Prompto says. “I guess I’m... pretty lucky to have found my way here.”

Somnus feels a rush of pleasure at Prompto’s words. With a subtle smile, he sips from his wine and glances towards the doors; the servant has yet to return.

“Have you had any thought to whether you’ll stay?”

“I don’t really have anywhere to go,” Prompto admits. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome though.”

The doors open, as if on cue, and the servant places a fresh goblet in front of Prompto, filling it with crystal-clear spring water.

Somnus waits for him to return to his post out of sight before speaking again.

“I wouldn’t turn away someone in need,” he says. He knows what his advisor would say in this circumstance; know what the _proper_ course of action would be. He chooses to ignore it. “Please, stay as long as you need. There are always tradesmen in the city with an eye out for apprentices, but in the meantime — you may remain here as my guest. I insist.”

Prompto takes a deep drink of the water, then puts his goblet down. “Then, thank you for your hospitality,” he says. “I might take tomorrow to go around the city to find something.”

Somnus nods, and offers Prompto a warm smile.

“Of course.”

He raises his wine, and inclines his head towards the other man.

“To the beginning of a friendship,” he says. “And perhaps a new life.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We plan to stick to a Sunday posting schedule for this fic, but we thought we'd drop it a little early this time in light of today being the premiere of Episode Ardyn Prologue.
> 
> Good timing, really, since this is the chapter Prompto finally meets the first king of Lucis...

Venturing out into the city should not be this nerve-wracking. Prompto has fought daemons, rescued villages, survived for a whole year on stale rations and recycled water; in comparison, this should be easy. But he is so very _aware_ of how strange he is in this time, and it’s hard to focus when everyone is staring.

“Get a _grip_ , Prompto,” he mutters to himself. He’d been too intimidated to approach the tradesmen he’d seen along the main street. People just keep _looking_ at him. He isn’t sure if it’s that his hair is blond, or his light-coloured robes aren’t on properly, or if he’s dressed too fancy for the rest of the populace. It’s probably all three.

Inlustris is _beautiful,_ though, and Prompto wishes he had his camera. The whole city is covered in sand-coloured ruins, although hints of modernity peek out from between the crumbling stone. There are huge, broken walls with ragged edges upon which children are playing, towering arches that hold up nothing, and massive deep gouges in the earth where people are digging to discover whole new wonders. Shops selling weaponry, fashion, and mouth-watering savoury bread are dotted all over the place, right out on the main street or tucked into repurposed ruins. Prompto’s itching to use up the allowance Somnus had generously given him, but he’s trying to restrain himself, because he’s already getting the best thing about this place for free.

 _Daylight._ Prompto had wept when he’d woken up in the morning to sunlight streaming through his window— huge, blubbering sobs that he would have been ashamed of had he not been so overcome with relief. Yesterday had been so _strange_ that he hadn’t even had the chance to truly process the sunshine, but seeing it in the morning had truly confirmed what he hadn’t dared hope— that he would wake to feel the sun warm his skin again.

If only Ignis and Gladio could have felt it. If only Noct...

Prompto shakes his head and continues on. He doesn’t think he’s going to get anywhere like this. Maybe he should just use today to explore the city and relax; who knows when Pryna will take him back, after all.

He gives in to temptation, buys a puffy not-pizza from one of the shops, and wanders. His feet carry him over the patched-up cobblestones, beyond the bustling centre of the city. Near the outskirts, it’s a little easier to breathe. Not so many people are around to stare at him.

He keeps going, going, _going,_ until the roads give way to grass and he finds himself in the countryside. Vast fields of greenery surround him, and he closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of water and earth. The sun is beating down hot on his fair skin, and beads of sweat form and trickle down his body. He’s never felt anything more glorious.

The sound of people talking floats to him on the breeze, and he follows it curiously. There is a small copse of trees, and behind it, a clearing dotted with small wooden houses. Some sort of event seems to be happening in the centre; people are congregating and talking excitedly around someone, a tall, dark-haired man in pale robes.

For once, no one is looking at Prompto. He takes advantage of the fact to creep forward and take a closer look. The man has his back to him, but even without seeing his face, Prompto can feel the sense of peace and serenity surrounding him like it’s a physical thing. It seems everyone else can, too; with the way they crowd around him, and the expressions on their faces, it reminds Prompto of the way sunflowers follow the sun.

But the jostling of the crowd pushes him forward, and it’s all Prompto can do to not fall flat on his face. He stumbles, but his arm is caught by a strong, gentle hand.

It's the man at the centre of it all— and the eyes of the crowd are now on Prompto, too, by extension.

The man himself only smiles, a peaceful curve of his lips, and lets his hand slip free of Prompto's arm once he's sure Prompto's steady on his feet. There are circles under the stranger's eyes— it's clear that whatever he's doing, it's taking its toll on him— yet he exudes endless patience as he casts a glance about the crowd waiting for him. With a nod of his head, he gestures to a spot on the ground, where others sit watching.

“Please,” he says, to Prompto. “Be seated, if you wish. Tell me what ails you.”

His voice is familiar. His face is familiar. There’s a little tendril of dread curling in the pit of Prompto’s stomach, but it’s impossible.

This man cannot be who he thinks he is.

“N-Nothing,” he stutters. “I was just curious. What’s going on?”

For all that the man's appearance might be familiar, there's no grandeur about him— no flamboyance. He's humble and unpretentious in his robes and in his demeanour, his hair framing a face more youthful than Prompto would expect.

He glances Prompto over, his brows knitting, before his expression turns neutral again.

“These people have come to be healed,” he says. “You're more than welcome to stay and satisfy your curiosity, if you'd like.”

Prompto hesitates. His body is tense in anticipation of a fight— in anticipation of pain. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ardyn,” the man replies, with a shallow bow. “It is my humble duty to heal those who ail.”

_Ardyn._

Prompto can’t breathe.

_Ardyn._

This is no coincidence. He remembers the sound of the gunshot, the body hitting the floor—  _dead_ — and the sick way Ardyn had picked himself back up like it was nothing at all. Like he hadn’t been _killed_. He remembers the stench of rot and death that had clung to him under the spice of too much cologne, the rough calluses on his hands as he strung Prompto up on the metal cross.

_It’s him, it’s him it’s him it’s him—_

The next thing he knows, it is dark. He is indoors. For a moment he panics, then settles when he sees a thin line of sunshine seeping in from under a closed shutter.

Movement on his right. He turns his head and comes face to face with Ardyn.

“No!” he shouts. His gun refuses to be called, and in his panic he throws a punch blindly. It connects with something soft. “Please! Get away from me!”

There's a gasp of pain, of surprise— and as the darkness of the room steadily dissolves, Ardyn's figure taking shape, Prompto sees him holding a hand to his mouth.

He looks... not angry. His eyes are wide, but where there should be rage, should be a lust for revenge written all over his face, he wears only an expression of infinite patience.

“It's all right,” he says, softly.

He motions with both hands palms-out as he backs carefully away; his right one has a smear of blood across his fingers, matching the freshly-opened cut on his lip.

“You collapsed,” he says. “The heat, I imagine. I apologise for moving you, but leaving you out in the middle of the crowd hardly seemed the right course of action.”

Prompto backs away on the cot until he is huddled up against the wall. He knows he is no match for Ardyn physically; with or without his gun, he can’t see a way out of here. He may be acting strangely, but he’s still _Ardyn—_  when all his friends had been suspicious, Prompto had given him the benefit of the doubt until the moment it had all gone wrong.

He won’t make the same mistake again.

“Don’t come any closer,” he says. “What do you want with me?”

Ardyn actually has the gall to look _confused._

“I promise you,” he urges, “I mean you no harm.”

He gestures for the door. It's only a few feet away, almost within arm's reach in the confines of the room.

“You're free to leave, if you're feeling recovered— although I caution you to keep hydrated, and take things slowly for a time.”

Prompto doesn’t move for a while, but neither does Ardyn. Eventually, he unfolds himself from the bed and walks towards the door.

Ardyn doesn’t approach him. Says nothing to him. When Prompto steps out into the sunlight and begins the walk back to the city, the knot of terror in his chest eases.

It makes him feel oddly empty.

* * *

Somnus has to attend to some royal business the next morning, so Prompto is left alone for breakfast. Servants bring him a platter of freshly-baked bread, eggs, and glazed meats; he eats his fill and still has more than enough left over. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this.

He tries very hard not to think about how Noct must have lived this way, back when he was growing up in the Citadel.

Lesson learned from the day before, he asks for a skin of water to bring on his wanderings. He’s just packing it into his satchel when he hears a commotion over near the entrance hall.

“What’s going on?” he asks the servant who’d brought the water. He thinks her name is Missy, but he’s too embarrassed to ask.

“His Majesty the King is returning to the palace from his travels this morning, sir,” she answers. “The servants are preparing the hall.”

Prompto gasps. “Is he really? Does he know I’ve been staying here?”

Maybe-Missy hesitates. “Not to my knowledge, sir.”

“Oh no!” Prompto slaps his hands over his cheeks. “Okay, should I leave before he sees me? Should I stay and like... introduce myself? He should probably know he’s got some random homeless guy in his palace, right? But it’s the king!”

She doesn’t answer, but with a quick curtsy, leaves him to his babbling. He can’t really blame her.

“Okay, game plan,” he says to himself. “Sneak out. I can do stealthy, yeah. Just gotta... find my way around...”

He really should have asked Missy.

The palace is a _maze_ of twisting corridors and dead ends where construction is still ongoing, and it’s not long before he ends up right at the entrance hall, which is the only way he knows in or out of the place. It’s empty, and he wonders where all the servants have gone.

Then the doors get thrown open, and Ardyn enters the palace.

He doesn't notice Prompto right away, and there might have been _just_ enough time for him to dart away if the man at Ardyn's side hadn't glanced up and met his eye.

He's tall— taller maybe even than Gladio— and even though he's willowy, he looks impossibly strong under the armour he wears. His hair hangs in long braids down his shoulders, fastened with beads of bronze, which match his pauldrons. There's not much time for Prompto to study him— after a heartbeat, the man's hand flies to the sword he wears at his hip, and he moves to draw it—

“It's all right, Gilgamesh. There's no need for that.”

It's Ardyn, just as infuritatingly calm and serene as earlier, like he has _no idea._

"Your Majesty,” the man— Gilgamesh— says, but Ardyn cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“We meet again,” he says, affixing Prompto with a warm glance. “I thought I recognised the Lucian finery. Has my brother taken in a stray?”

 _There’s_ the mockery that Prompto expects— but his anger is eclipsed by the much more pressing issue in front of him.

 _”Majesty?”_ Prompto squeaks. “You’re... you’re the Founder King?”

A weary sigh from Ardyn, a shake of his head; to his side, Gilgamesh barely conceals a grim smile.

“So they call me,” Ardyn replies.

He doesn't much _look_ like a king in his pale, worn robes, with his sandal-clad feet covered in dirt from the road.

But things are beginning to make sense. Ardyn’s magic, his healing abilities, his apparent _immortality._

“You’re a time-traveller,” Prompto declares.

An undignified snort sounds out from Gilgamesh's lips, breaking his seemingly cool demeanour. At his side, Ardyn shoots him a look before turning his glance to Prompto.

“Begging your pardon,” he says, "but what on _Eos_ are you talking about?”

“You— you’re from the future, and you—” Prompto falters. When he says it out loud, it sounds ridiculous. But there is no other possible explanation. “You’re Ardyn Izunia.”

 _“Izunia?”_  Ardyn echoes, with a stark laugh. “I'm afraid you must have me confused with someone else.”

Gilgamesh seems almost affronted at this, and steps forward, the leather skirt of his armour whipping about his legs as he strides toward Prompto.

“This is _King_ Ardyn Lucis Caelum,” he says. “And you've yet to identify yourself.”

Weaponless, Prompto backs away with his hands in the air. His head is spinning.

_Ardyn Lucis Caelum._

How _fucking_ dare he.

“I am Prompto Argentum. A traveller.” He raises his head and looks past Gilgamesh, staring straight into Ardyn’s eyes. “And sorry, but you are _not_ my king.”

Something flares in Ardyn's expression; his seemingly endless cool apparently has its limits. He opens his mouth, but whatever retort he plans on coming out with, Gilgamesh gets there first.

The sound of metal rings through the air as he unsheathes his sword. He doesn't cut Prompto down, but he holds it menacingly enough.

“Watch your tongue, _traveller,”_  he spits.

“Gilgamesh.”

Ardyn's tone is flat, the irritation fading away from his expression. He reaches out a hand; places it on Gilgamesh's shoulder.

“Did Somnus put you up to this?”

“He didn’t put me up to anything,” Prompto says. There is something in Ardyn’s expression that seems genuine— as genuine as a man like Ardyn Izunia can be— and it makes him falter. “You... you really have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Ardyn pats Gilgamesh's shoulder and slowly, grudgingly, the man puts his blade away.

“Perhaps you are still unwell from yesterday?” Ardyn suggests.

He doesn't look too mad, at least, although the same can't really be said for Gilgamesh, who stays a little in front of him like he actually thinks Prompto might be a _threat._

“I... yeah. Yeah, that must be it,” Prompto says faintly. “I think, um. I need to talk to Somnus. Do you know where I can find him?”

“The prince sits at court while His Majesty is away,” Gilgamesh states. "That's likely where you'll find him.”

In another lifetime, Ardyn might be sneering at Prompto's confusion; _this _Ardyn only looks concerned.__

“I can send for him when he's free,” he says.

“Yeah. Please.” Prompto rubs his face with one hand. “I have, like, no idea what’s happening anymore.

A subtle look passes from king to guard; Ardyn steps forward, gently motioning to Prompto.

 “Now,” he says kindly. “Why not rest in the meantime?”

Maybe it’s the compassion in his voice, or the gentleness in the way he looks at Prompto. Maybe it’s that, in less than 48 hours, Prompto has found himself transported two _thousand_ years in the past, had more food and water and sunlight than he’s had in a year, and come face to face with his mortal enemy

But Prompto is confused and upset and _tired_ , and if this nice, healer version of Ardyn is telling him to rest, maybe it’s okay to let his guard down for a little while.

“Yeah, okay.” His shoulders sag. “I’m just gonna hang out in the gardens til Somnus is free.”

“Of course.”

With a permissive nod of his head, Ardyn gestures to Gilgamesh.

“If you wouldn't mind accompanying... Prompto?” he says. "I'll have to clean up after my journey before I can see what my dear brother has to say about all of this.”

Gilgamesh is terrifying, but in the way that Cor and Gladio and Ignis are terrifying. Prompto can live with that, as long as it’s not _Ardyn_.

They go to the gardens where Prompto first arrived; Prompto immediately makes a beeline for one of the willow trees. Its curtain of leaves sways gently, and under its shade, patches of white flowers grow. He ducks under the leaves and sits on the ground.

“You’re welcome to join me here if you want,” he says to Gilgamesh. “I’m just gonna wait until I can see Somnus.”

Gilgamesh doesn't say much. He does most of his talking with his stern expression, or the way he folds his arms across his chest. It's a pattern that he seems happy to keep up as he comes to a halt a little away from the tree, although he stands with his hands braced on his hips, one of them never far from the sword he wears.

He doesn't reply; just absently runs his fingers over the eagle's wing motif carved into the hilt of his weapon.

It's not the only place that the symbol features— with the light of day streaming through the glass windows, it's easy now to see the way the metal of his armour seems to mimic the shape of feathers.

“So...” Prompto says to fill the silence. “You’re the King’s Shield.”

Gilgamesh's fingers still where they play over his sword. His head lifts just slightly, the tiniest little inkling that Prompto has his attention.

“His _Shield?”_

“Well... aren’t you?” Prompto asks uncomfortably. He wonders belatedly if they were even _called_ Shields back then. Or rather, now. “Like... you protect him, right? You’re the one who sticks with him all the time to keep him safe. So, his Shield.” 

Gilgamesh is silent again. He seems to consider the idea for a long while, before giving a stern nod.

“I suppose so,” he says flatly.

It doesn't seem like Prompto's going to get much more of it; the man— Ardyn's _Shield—_  seems content to clasp his hands in front of him, feet slightly apart as though braced to move at a moment's notice.

“Well, if you’re not gonna enjoy the daylight, I will!” Prompto flops onto his back. The flowers tickle his cheeks and he can’t help but giggle, and turn his face further into the grass.

“I wish the others were here,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t _intend_ to fall asleep, but with the sun warm on his skin and the scent of fresh flowers all around him, he closes his eyes and dreams of daylight and his friends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As expected, Episode Ardyn Prologue introduced a few things that we weren't _quite_ anticipating... We hope you enjoy our own take on the lore!

Somnus shifts on his throne. He’s been sitting here for _hours_ — maintaining a semblance of regal composure — and although he knows each petitioner deserves just as much attention as the last, it’s difficult not to grow restless after presiding over the third petty dispute that could easily have been handled by the individuals in question.

It’s not that he’s _bored,_ exactly. He just feels his time might be better spent out _there,_ actually making a difference.

His day livens up, at least, when the doors of the throne room burst open long after the last petitioner has shuffled out.

Ardyn.

Somnus remembers a time, years earlier, when he’d rushed to greet his elder brother, clutching at his robes and begging for tales from his travels; remembers being filled with delight by the gifts Ardyn had brought him from faraway places.

With time, the gifts had stopped coming. With time, the excitement had faded.

“Brother,” Somnus says, rising from his seat. “You have returned.”

“For the time being,” Ardyn says. “Tell me, the strange young man wandering the palace without an escort — is he entirely well?”

Somnus feels a little frisson of excitement. He’d much sooner have spent his day with Prompto than attending to his royal duties, but the prospect of seeing his guest had helped him endure the worst of it.

“Well?” he echoes. “What do you mean?”

Ardyn sighs. He looks tired, perhaps even more so than the last time he returned home from his pilgrimage. He must have bathed and changed out of his travelling clothes since his arrival, but his skin is weathered from the road.

“Never mind,” Ardyn says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He wanted to see you. It seemed rather urgent.”

Alarm jolts through Somnus. Prompto may only have been here a handful of days, but he’s grown protective of the strange young man from foreign lands; he hopes whatever this _urgent_ matter is, Prompto has come to no harm.

“Very well,” he replies. “Would you take me to him, Brother?”

They speak sparingly as Ardyn brings him through the palace, and never is the gulf between them more stark than at moments like this — the way they scarcely have a word to say to each other now, where Somnus would have hung on his brother’s every word as a boy. When Somnus asks where Ardyn’s faithful guard is, he merely gives a grunt by way of response.

Prompto’s waiting within the gardens; when they enter, Somnus sees Gilgamesh standing by one of the great willows — with no Prompto in sight.

That’s not entirely true, however.

As they approach Gilgamesh, where he silently moves in exercises to hone both body and mind, Somnus looks past him to the foot of the willow tree. Prompto lies beneath it, curled up within the grass; he’s so small, so delicate as to almost be invisible where he’s nestled amongst the wildflowers.

“I’d ask why you would allow a stranger to wander the palace so freely,” Ardyn says. There’s something wry about his voice. “I dare say it has something to do with a certain weakness for the wide-eyed and sweet?”

The mere sight of Prompto makes Somnus’s heart leap. His golden hair; his pale skin, kissed with freckles. He’s like a drop of clear spring water upon a parched tongue.

Ignoring his brother, Somnus steps forward — giving Gilgamesh a wide berth — and gently traipses through the grass. When he gets to Prompto he sinks to his knees and stretches out a tentative hand, using the slightest brush of his fingers to push a strand of hair out of his face.

“Prompto,” he says softly. “Wake up.”

Prompto snuffles adorably in his sleep, and, with an unhappy whine, opens his eyes a fraction. “Noct?”

There’s that name again — it was the first thing Prompto uttered when he was brought into the throne room.

Something about the way he says it tugs at Somnus; makes his heart pang. What would it feel like to hear his own name from those lips, in that same wondering tone?

Somnus withdraws his hand, as his heart twists within him.

“It’s me,” he says. “Ardyn said you wanted to see me.”

Prompto sits up and rubs at his eyes. When he looks at Somnus again, he is smiling. “Oh hey Somnus! Yeah, I did!” His eyes slide over to Ardyn, and the smile drops. “Could we maybe talk alone?”

_Did Ardyn say something to him?_

“Of course,” Somnus says, airily.

He rises lithely to his feet and, with hands on hips, turns to Ardyn. His brother stands speaking with Gilgamesh, heads low and voices dropped; whatever they’re talking about, they stop when Somnus approaches.

“Thank you for bringing me, Brother,” Somnus says. “I won’t keep you from your duties any longer.”

‘Are you certain?’ Ardyn asks. He has that infuriating _Brother knows best_ tone.

“Quite certain,” Somnus replies briskly. “Will I see you at dinner?”

A look passes between Ardyn and Gilgamesh. After a pause, Ardyn looks to Somnus and nods. They leave soon after, falling into step side by side, their heads ducked once more in hushed conversation.

Somnus waits until the heavy doors have swung shut behind them before returning to Prompto.

It’s such a nice day, so warm and hazy, that it seems Prompto might have had the right idea about drifting off beneath the tree. Somnus is content to sit down in the grass beside him, although uneasiness settles in as he turns to Prompto.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Prompto hugs his legs to his chest. He rests his chin on his knees, looking pensively at something Somnus cannot see. “That’s your brother, right? Did you grow up with him, all your life?”

Somnus laughs in spite of himself — although he feels guilty immediately, seeing how earnest Prompto is.

“Yes, I grew up with him,” he says, “until he began going off on his pilgrimages, at least. I idolised him as a boy. Wherever he went, I was usually to be found trailing close behind. Gilgamesh used to call me Ardyn’s _little shadow.”_

Prompto exhales sharply, and buries his face in his knees. “That’s... kind of adorable,” he says. “But I am such an idiot.”

It’s a good thing Somnus doesn’t flush easily. _Adorable_ might not have been what he was hoping for, but it’s something.

“Did something happen?” he asks. “You seem upset.”

Prompto laughs. It’s a strange, empty thing. “I thought he was someone else,” he whispers. “He looks a lot like someone I knew. Someone who hurt me and my friends. I... may have reacted kinda strongly.”

There’s that _something_ again — whatever happened, wherever Prompto came from, that set him on his journey here.

“Ardyn has spent years travelling across Lucis healing those touched by the Scourge,” Somnus says. “Whatever it is that that person did, perhaps my brother can reassure you he’s nothing like the one you knew.”

Prompto whips around to stare at him. “Ardyn _heals_ the Scourge?”

Somnus nods. Word of the feats of the great Lucian healer must not have spread beyond Lucis — perhaps yet another pilgrimage is in order.

“It’s the same gift that allows me to heal flesh wounds,” he says, gently tapping a fingertip against Prompto’s arm, where there’s no lingering sign of the cut that had once been there. “His is much greater, of course. That’s why he’s gone for so very long at a time — ridding the people of the Scourge, from mountains to coast.”

“What, like an Oracle?”

“You know of Lady Aera?” Somnus asks, a grin spreading across his face. “She’s quite something, isn’t she? Imagine, being able to commune with the gods…”

He doesn’t bother to hide the awe in his voice. He remembers first meeting the Oracle when he was young; he thought she was as beautiful as the moonlight in her robes of pure white.

“Yeah... um, I’ve never met Lady Aera, but you could say I’m a fan of the Oracle.” Prompto smiles. It starts off sweet, and then slowly changes into something sad and distant; Somnus is growing used to this pattern, and he understands why his brother had enquired after Prompto’s well-being. “I can’t believe you and Ardyn have powers like the Oracle. It’s a bit... well, I never would have guessed.”

“Blessed by the Astrals,” Somnus says, with a sigh.

“It’s the Astrals’ wish that they be wed,” he adds. “A united bloodline, sworn to protect Eos.”

Prompto frowns, looking confused. “But that never... I mean, huh, I never heard about a wedding.”

“You hadn’t heard the name of the king of Lucis, either,” Somnus says teasingly.

He reaches out and taps the tip of Prompto’s nose playfully.

“You still have a great deal to learn about our lands. At least you’ve met Ardyn now — maybe you’ll be lucky enough to see the Oracle in the flesh, too.”

“Oh, I hope so!” Prompto’s face lights up. “I’ve always wanted to meet the Oracle!”

He rubs the tip of his nose and laughs. “Thanks, Somnus. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Hopefully,” Somnus replies warmly, “you won’t have to find out.”

He reaches out for Prompto’s hand, waggling his fingers for the blond to take.

“Let’s go get something to eat. Sitting around all day gave me an appetite…”

Prompto giggles again and takes his hand. “If you say so,” he teases. “Your Hungry Hungry Highness.”

Somnus can’t help it: he laughs. Strange, beautiful Prompto, with his odd customs and manner of speaking; he’s _certainly_ livened things up at the palace.

“You won’t mind if I have your helping of dessert, then?” Somnus retorts with a grin.

He rises to his feet and tugs at Prompto’s hand, helping him up.

“Oh, you are absolutely not stealing my dessert,” Prompto says, “in fact, no desserts for you at all. Nuh-uh, all that sugar is bad for you. I guess I’ll just gladly sacrifice myself for the sake of the Prince.”

“There’s something you’ll soon come to learn, Prompto,” Somnus says, fixing his companion with a knowing smirk. _“Never_ come between a prince and the thing he wants most.”

 

* * *

 

There are so many things for Ardyn to do whenever he arrives home from his journeys — courtly matters to be caught up on; correspondence to be returned. Sometimes, all the official business he must attend to is _more_ exhausting than his long months on the road.

He joins Somnus for a late supper in his room — during which his brother can’t seem to stop effusing about his young guest — and once that meal is over with, he’s finally free to retire in peace.

He cannot sleep, however. His head is abuzz, from his travels, and from the toll the healing always takes on him.

He wanders the halls of the palace, as alien to him as many of the servants and guards he passes. This may be _his_ kingdom to rule, but Somnus knows it far better than he ever will. Perhaps, if things were different…

Ardyn ends up in the library, almost without realising. This room, at least, is one that he knows relatively well — many of the volumes are ones which he procured on his travels. He lights the lamps about the room not with the Crystal’s magic, but with flame, and when the room is lit up with a flickering glow he selects a book salvaged from the old world and settles into a comfortable chair.

It is probably only because of that fact that he notices the slender, almost emaciated silhouette of Somnus’s skittish blond stranger entering the room. He startles at the sight of Ardyn, stepping back into the shadow of the doorway.

“Wait,” Ardyn blurts.

Somnus’s guest already seems troubled enough — a fact which Ardyn has no doubt that he has somehow contributed to — and the last thing he wants to do is upset him any further.

He tries to look at the young man as he might a startled animal, something which needs a delicate hand.

“You needn’t leave on my account,” he says.

Prompto hesitates, then steps forward to take a seat close to Ardyn. “I didn’t think I’d find you here, but... now that we’re here, I guess, there’s something I need to say.” He takes a deep breath, seemingly needing to steady himself. “I’m sorry about earlier. For accusing you of... of being someone you aren’t.”

With a measured breath, Ardyn closes his book and places it in his lap, looking levelly at the young man sitting by him. He certainly seems to be in his right mind now — quite a difference from their last few encounters.

“My brother told me you seem to have lost a great deal,” he says. “Loss can… affect a person, in unexpected ways.”

Prompto nods. “I guess you’d know that really well. Somnus says you heal the Scourge.”

“I do, among other things. It is but one of my duties.”

Ardyn studies Prompto for a moment. He supposes he can understand why his brother has taken such a shine to him — even beneath the frail and uncertain demeanour, a bright light seems to shine through.

“Did you lose someone to the Scourge?” he asks. “It is a truly terrible thing to witness.”

Prompto nods. “A lot of people. The Oracle tried healing them, but... I think it makes her weaker.” He hesitates before speaking once more; still fearful despite all of Ardyn’s reassurances. “Does that happen to you too?”

Ardyn tenses.

True, the healing takes its toll — but there’s something more to it, something beyond words. He can feel it, rippling under the surface: a curious itch. Even now he can feel it crawling beneath his skin, and it seems to him that the darkest shadows call to him from just outside the lamplight, beckoning to a kindred soul.

“To an extent,” he says. He shakes his head, and the shadows retreat. “There’s only so much a mere mortal can do. Sometimes, healing is beyond our ability.”

“Then why?” Prompto asks. His voice and expression are strangely hard. “If it’s so difficult for you, why do _you_ heal the Scourge?”

What a subtle difference it can make — the hint of emphasis on a word. To answer why Ardyn and the Oracle work together to heal the Scourge would be simple: because it is their duty. To ask why _Ardyn_ does it seems a different question entirely.

There had been a time when he’d thought he had no other choice, when a messenger had visited him in a dream, and planted within him visions of a journey he must make: the first pilgrimage. He’d been presented with a challenge, one which had altered the course of his life forever.

“Years ago,” he says, “before the Crystal — before this kingdom was ever founded — there was an acolyte at the Temple of Bahamut. They used to take in the needy in those days: the sick, the desolate. In a time when those afflicted with the Scourge were cast out from their own homes, the temple showed them charity in their last days.”

He sighs deeply.

“They did all that they could to ease their pain, but there was no cure, you see — it was simply a matter of time. But this acolyte prayed, nonetheless. Prayed that the Astrals might take mercy upon those who were suffering.

“She was with child when she had a dream — a messenger from the gods told her that she would bear sons who would become great things: rulers, and healers. Her prayers had been answered, at last; the child she bore in her belly would grow to cleanse the world of the plague that had corrupted it for so long.”

Ardyn looks down at his hands: worn, cracked hands, from years of travel.

“She was my mother. She always told me, and Somnus, that we were destined for greatness. Many years passed before anyone believed her; they thought all of her talk of divine messengers, of a blessed womb, was the raving of a madwoman. She died before she could ever see the people recognise us for our calling.

“Like her, I prayed for guidance. I knew I had the gift of healing, but knew not what the gods wanted of me. I toiled at the temple, healing as best I could, but the suffering was so great. At last, I had… a vision. A premonition, I suppose. It led me on the road for a great many days, with no idea of how far I’d have to travel — only that I would know what I was searching for when I saw it.”

He glances up at Prompto. The young man is still listening intently.

“I ran out of food first,” Ardyn says. “Soon I was down to the last few gulps of water within the gourd I carried. And still I walked, until I met a man lying in the road, clearly wounded from some attack. He wasn’t long for this world. At the temple, I might have used milk of the poppy to bring him blissful sleep, but alas I had nothing.

“‘Water,’ he said. ‘Please, water.’ Without a moment’s thought, I took the gourd from my belt and pressed it to his lips. He was gone not long after dusk. I covered his body as well as I could, and then I made camp for the night.

“A messenger came to me, at the witching hour — a beautiful woman with raven hair. I thought it was another dream, but when she clasped my hand, she was as real as you or I. ‘Mortal,’ she said. ‘Why would you give a dying man your last drop of water?’ ‘To ease his suffering,’ I said.”

Ardyn smiles wryly. Even now, he can’t help but think that the divine have so little knowledge of humanity.

“She didn’t understand,” he says. “‘But he would perish with or without your intervention,’ she said. ‘Would the water not serve you better?’ So I told her of my time at the temple, following in my mother’s footsteps, and how we never turned a soul away — no matter how lost of a cause they might have been. ‘No man deserves to suffer,’ I told him. ‘Our greatest gift to one another is compassion.’

“You asked me why I heal the Scourge,” Ardyn says, looking Prompto in the eye. “Wouldn’t you, too? Or would you sleep soundly in a bed of silk, knowing that beyond the palace walls, people suffered, needlessly?”

Prompto seems struck speechless. His eyes are bright in the low lamplight, and the shadows on his too-thin face give him an ethereal sharpness. Ardyn’s gaze runs over his face, the way those teeth bite into a pink lip like he is deciding what to make of him.

Eventually, Prompto speaks again. “You don’t like it when people suffer needlessly,” he says. “That’s good. Pretty commendable, really. It makes me wonder though... do you think people ever need to suffer? Would you ever hurt someone, if you thought it would fit into your plans — or the gods’ plans?”

It’s a curious question, and Ardyn feels his eyebrow rise incredulously.

“My plans,” he says, his tone measured so that there might be no mistake, “are to ease the suffering of those afflicted with the Scourge. If the gods’ plans involved _harming_ someone innocent, I’m not sure I could justify serving them any longer.”

“Fair enough.” Prompto tilts his head. “One more question, if that’s okay?”

Ardyn nods, and waves his hand for Prompto to continue.

Prompto’s fingers twist in his lap; the fine robes crumple in a white-knuckled grip. “Define innocence.”

It catches Ardyn off-guard — not least because it’s such a philosophical question from such an unlikely source. Any other time, Ardyn might easily have answered his question, but it seems to him that Prompto is weighing him up, somehow; getting the measure of him.

“Do you know why Somnus spent so very long at court today, Prompto?”

Prompto shakes his head. His eyes widen, and he leans forward intently.

“Part of my duties as ruler,” Ardyn says, “and Somnus’s, as prince regent, is to adjudicate civil disputes. A merchant came to him today with a complaint about a thief — a man stole a loaf of bread to feed his daughter. The old laws once dictated that a thief pay in kind — a finger as penance.”

Ardyn gives a shake of his head. It’s unsavoury business.

“By law, the thief is guilty, but such a punishment seems disproportionate, no?”

“He was trying to feed his daughter,” Prompto says, looking shocked. “You could let him off for that, right? It’s just some bread!”

“By the old laws, no,” Ardyn says. “But times change. How could the law find a man guilty for wanting to protect someone vulnerable, after all? Someone _innocent?_

“The merchant argued for a just punishment, of course — said that this thief was not the first to steal from his stall, that he wanted Somnus to _set an example._ Somnus ordered that the merchant donate one in ten of everything he sells to those who need it. Somnus felt that if the merchant’s prices were so high that this man couldn’t afford to feed his daughter, then he wouldn’t miss a few bread rolls each day.”

Ardyn smiles wryly, glancing off into the middle-distance as he imagines his brother smugly imparting such a sentence on the very man who came to him seeking justice.

“Ah,” he says, shaking his head and turning his attention once more to Prompto. “I digress. At the heart of it all is this: if we can deem a man guilty for an act of wrongdoing done with good intentions, what does that say of us as a civilisation?

“If Bahamut himself appeared before me now and told me to strike the thief down for his crime, I would refuse. But if the merchant turned his blows upon the thief, with every intent to kill him, and the only solution was to strike the _merchant_ down… I wonder, what would _you_ do?”

Prompto looks surprised at the question being turned on him. He shifts in his chair, clearly uncomfortable, but he still answers the question with a steady voice. “If it really was the only solution, I would do it.”

He sighs, and rubs the back of his head. “I don’t know when I became the sort of person to do that,” he murmurs in a voice Ardyn thinks he was not meant to hear.

“It was easy when I was merely a healer at the temple,” Ardyn says. “I didn’t weigh the morals of those I tended to — wicked or pure, it didn’t matter. Every man, woman and child that passed through the temple doors was just as deserving of mercy as the next. It’s the same out there, on pilgrimage: if I can save someone, I do.

“Look at any lexicon and it will tell you that _innocence_ is the absence of wrongdoing, but I’m sure you know, as I do, that that’s a crude simplification of things. If you killed a man to save another, does that make you guilty? What if you sat idly by instead, and did nothing?”

Slowly, wearily, he rises to his feet with his book in hand.

“I’m afraid I’ve prattled on for quite long enough.”

“No!” Prompto exclaims suddenly, standing up. Even he looks startled by his own reaction; his hand drops from where it had been reaching out to touch. “I mean, go ahead, obviously, you’re the king, do whatever you want.” He pulls his hands in to hug them against his chest shyly. “It was just kind of... nice, talking to you.”

Another long, heavy pause. “In much better circumstances.”

It seems that Ardyn has only begun to scratch the surface of this odd young fellow; only begun to see what makes him tick.

“I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” Ardyn says with a wry smile. “My brother seems to have taken quite a shine to you.”

Prompto turns a brilliant pink, obvious even in the lamplight. “He’s really nice,” he says. “I’d be pretty much lost if he hadn’t taken me in.”

Ardyn can’t help but smirk. He wonders if Somnus’s feelings aren’t entirely one-sided; he’s always been the charming one.

“Then it’s fortunate that he did, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Prompto’s smile is brilliant. “And, hey, I never thanked you for helping me out too — y’know, for the other day out in the village.”

“My pleasure,” Ardyn replies.

He takes a moment to replace the book in its rightful place — he never did get around to reading it, but no harm done — and turns to Prompto once more.

“I’ll bid you a good night, Prompto. May you sleep well.”

Prompto smiles again, gently. “You too, Ardyn.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I want to ride my chocobo all day— oh!”

Prompto stumbles on a rock and would have fallen flat on his face if it hadn’t been for Somnus pulling him back upright. He smiles at him; even an embarrassing tumble can’t bring his mood down today.

“Thanks, man!” He swings their picnic basket back and forth, humming his favourite tune again.

When Somnus laughs, it’s that sweet, unassuming sound he always seems to have, just for Prompto.

“If you’re not careful, I’ll have to carry you the rest of the way,” Somnus teases.

Prompto sighs dramatically. “Well, I said I wanted to ride chocobos, but I guess princes will have to do.”

Somnus flashes a grin and looks away— although not before Prompto can see the hint of red prickling at his cheeks.

“Do they have chocobos where you come from, Prompto?” he asks.

He hops over a gap between some rocks— this time, he extends a hand to help Prompto over.

“What a gentleman,” Prompto says. “And yeah, we do! I love them, they’re the best!”

“My brother’s particularly fond of the black ones,” Somnus says. “They tend to be… stubborn, though. The yellows are so docile _anyone_ could get along with one.”

He pauses to look for a second, and points.

“Almost there. I’m sorry about the hike— the view is worth it, though.”

“I love any and all chocobos,” Prompto says fervently. He nudges Somnus with one shoulder and laughs. “And really, don’t worry about the hike. I’ve done way worse back home.”

It still hurts to think of home, although Prompto is starting to wonder if he’ll ever be able to go back to his own time. Every morning he has awoken in Inlustris has been both a relief and something of a tragedy. He misses his friends so much, and he’s terrified that they think he’s dead— and the idea of being left behind here when Noctis eventually returns is too much to bear.

But he loves the daylight, he loves the city and its people— now that they have more or less gotten used to his strangeness— and he loves spending time with Somnus.

Somnus is so much like Noctis, but at the same time completely different. Prompto sneaks a glance at him as they continue walking to wherever the prince is taking him; for as much as they look alike, Somnus carries himself with a practiced elegance, an arrogance that Noctis only rarely had. If Prompto had to describe it, he’d say Somnus has a bigger _presence._ Noctis can light up a room, but Somnus can make every knee bend to him.

Somnus’ elected picnic spot is a flat area on a rocky outcrop. The height and the cragginess of the place explains why they had to leave their chocobos tied up behind; the birds never would have been able to make it over this terrain, with their clawed feet.

The prince was right: the view is something special, the landscape spanning out for miles around. It’s never been more clear to Prompto just how different _this_ Lucis is from the one he calls home. He can also see the similarities from here, though— the mountains in the distance, the sprawling plains of green. There’s a village to the south of their position which _definitely_ doesn’t exist in Prompto’s time.

“I don’t get to leave Inlustris very often,” Somnus says. He stands with his hands on his hips, looking out at the view, his back to Prompto. “I’m a little envious of all the travelling Ardyn gets to do.”

“Then go out!” Prompto says. He bumps Somnus’ back with a corner of the basket. “You can’t really rule if you don’t get to know the people you’re ruling over. Take it from a commoner like me.”

 _“Ardyn_ knows them well enough for the both of us,” Somnus says, with a sigh. “Although he spends so much longer out of court than in it that I wonder if he has a head for the politics of it all.”

“So how come he’s king and not you, then?” Prompto wonders. “He doesn’t even seem to like the title.”

Somnus turns, and takes the basket from Prompto’s grasp. There’s something in his eyes— something distant— as he pulls out the quilted blanket that they brought to sit on.

“You’d have to take that up with the Astrals,” he says. “Bahamut chose him.”

“Huh.” Prompto sits on the blanket and keeps his gaze down. There is a loose thread coming out of the stitching; idly, his fingers twist in it as he thinks of another chosen king. His chest hurts. “Maybe he’ll grow into it. The role, I mean.”

“Maybe we need a king who cares more about compassion than policies,” Somnus says with a shrug. He settles onto the blanket by Prompto, his legs elegantly stretched to the side.

“We don’t know much about those that came before us, but there are still records of rulers who were overcome by greed. My brother would never happily live in a palace while people starved in the streets.”

Somnus’ faith in Ardyn is unshakable, but Prompto knows better. Since their conversation in the library, he’s tried so hard to think of Ardyn Lucis Caelum and Ardyn Izunia as two separate people. It’s an almost impossible task. There are differences, yes— but Prompto still knows well the shape of Ardyn in his dreams and nightmares, still knows the voice that whispers in his memories.

Whatever gentleness Ardyn Izunia had was a mockery of Ardyn Lucis Caelum’s own, and Prompto thinks about the familiar agony of hunger, the panic, the slowly dwindling reserves of food. He thinks of men and women and children with their faces slowly growing sharper with hunger, and the oppressive knowledge of Ardyn’s presence in the Citadel desecrating everything Insomnians had held dear.

But Ardyn _Lucis Caelum_ had spoken of innocence, of justice, with a quiet passion and an honesty in his eyes that Prompto couldn’t help but believe him. He knows now that there is such a thing as compassion even in someone like Ardyn.

Prompto wonders what terrible thing must have happened to make Ardyn so corrupted that even death was afraid to touch him.

He looks at Somnus, and realises he’d been lost in thought for much too long. “Yeah! Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he says. “He... probably wouldn’t be happy that way.”

Somnus gives a sigh and, with a deliberate motion, leans toward the picnic basket. They brought all sorts of things for their trek out here— nothing quite so elaborate as that first dinner Prompto had at the palace, but more food than he'd probably have in a week back home.  
  
Somnus plucks out a shiny red apple and tosses it to Prompto.  
  
“Enough about him, anyway,” he says cheerily. “If I wanted to talk about my brother, I would’ve invited him along. Tell me— for a commoner, you seem very comfortable around royalty. Is everyone like that where you come from?”

Prompto bites into the apple and gives Somnus a quick smile. “My best friend was a prince!” he says. “Guess I just haven’t kicked the habit yet. Do you mind?”

“It’s…”

Somnus seems to take a moment to find the right words. He leans back where he sits, looking up towards the sky where there’s only the slightest scattering of wispy clouds to mar the blue.

“It’s refreshing,” he says eventually, dropping his chin to meet Prompto’s eye. “I feel like you’re talking to _me,_ not _the prince of Lucis.”_

Prompto grins. “That’s what he used to say,” he says. The memory still hurts, but sitting near Somnus makes it more of a dull ache. “Anyway, I’ve only known you for a few days, but I think if that whoever looks at you and sees just a prince, and not you— I think they’re missing out.”

When Somnus smiles, he looks like the cat that got the cream.

“To be fair, they probably don’t get much of a chance to get to know me,” he replies. He turns his face upwards to the sky again, eyes closed as he basks in the sun. “You’re the first foreigner who’s been in the palace in anything other than a diplomatic capacity. My guards are _still_ mystified as to how you made it inside.”

“I mean, same, dude,” Prompto says. “I don’t remember how I got here. I was just so out of it.” He’s not exactly lying.

There’s a funny little look on Somnus’ face, even as he continues to bathe in the sun’s warmth.

“Perhaps we need to look into improving security. You don’t seem _too_ much of a threat, but if you found your way in…”

“Guess you’re right.” This is a dangerous line of conversation. “Hey, are we gonna eat or what? Don’t tell me you made me carry that basket around just for an apple!”

“And you wouldn’t happily do it for a prince?”

Somnus smirks as he reaches for the basket and pulls it fully open to begin taking things out. He brought _everything,_ it seems— freshly-baked bread and cakes, their delicious smell filling the air; more fresh, ripe fruits; ruby-red wine, and water for Prompto.

“Ohhh _Astrals.”_ Prompto’s mouth positively waters at the sight. “You sure know how to spoil a guy.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” Somnus replies with a grin. “You’ll know when I’m _really_ trying to impress you.”

“Okay, what do I need to do to get that kind of treatment, then?” Prompto winks at him.

For a long while, Somnus is silent as he reaches into the basket and pulls out the wine, pouring himself a generous serving. Maybe it’s just the heat of the sun smiling down on them, but there’s a heat crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks.

He’s incredibly casual as he leans back and takes a sip of wine, seeming to study the contents of his cup as he twists it in his grasp.

“I think you’re well on your way,” he says.

He reaches out to Prompto and idly plucks at the hem of his robes, curling it into his grasp.

“You know, you’re quite the charmer when you want to be.”

Prompto’s face goes warm. “Well, you’re pretty charming too.”

He has the strong urge to hold Somnus’ hand, but he’s still shy. His hand twitches towards his.

Somnus lifts his eyes to meet Prompto’s. There are times where he looks so much like Noct that he could be his twin— the colour of his eyes might be the same, but the look in them is like nothing Noct ever gave him.

“There are hot springs by the volcano to the north-west, the better part of a day’s ride by chocobo,” he says, idly. “Perhaps I could take you sometime. If you should feel like charming me some more, of course…”

If anything, Prompto feels himself getting even warmer. He’s sure he must be bright red. “That, uh. That sounds amazing,” he says. “I’d love to go with you.”

“I’m sure my guards would _insist_ on accompanying us on such a long journey, but it would be more than worth it,” Somnus says.

He gives one last tug of Prompto’s robe, gently but with a teasing smile, and lets go.

“We could make arrangements in the next few days, if you’d like. There’s a haven nearby, blessed by the Oracle herself to ward off daemons— we could stay there safely overnight, and ride back the next day.”

“By chocobo?” Prompto asks hopefully.

Somnus gives a very unregal snort over the brim of his cup.

“You could ride a prince instead,” he says, “but I don’t think we’d get very far…”

Prompto squeaks and covers his face with his hands, giggling. “Oh my _gosh,_ I forgot I said that,” he says. He peeks between his fingers. “Still might be fun, though...”

“You think so?”

Somnus sets his cup down, and for a moment it’s not readily obvious what he’s doing as he gathers the end of his robes up into his grasp— until he rolls onto his front, poised on all fours, dipping his head submissively to Prompto.

“Your noble steed, sir,” Somnus says, his eyes twinkling.

 _”Somnus!”_ Prompto shrieks, laughing. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re doing this!”

He gets on his knees and shuffles over to Somnus, cupping his face in one hand. “You’re such a dork,” he says fondly. “I was thinking of a piggyback ride, but this’ll do.”

“What is a dork?” Somnus asks, cocking his head to the side— and into Prompto’s touch. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a silly person.” Prompto pinches his cheek. “And you are very silly, Your Highness. Don’t worry, it’s super cute!”

Somnus makes as if to swat Prompto’s hand away, only to catch it with his own instead.

 _“Cute?”_ he echoes, lips curling in a smirk. “Not _handsome?_ Not _dashing?”_

“You just said you liked that I don’t treat you like everyone else. Anyone could say you’re dashing and handsome, but me?” Prompto laughs. It’s amazing how easy this is with Somnus. “I say you’re adorable.”

“Well then,” Somnus says. “If it pleases you, I’ll happily be cute.”

He’s all-out grinning now— why is it that when he smiles, it’s like he has some secret that he knows you want in on?— and the grin stays in place even as he leans closer, his glance darting from Prompto’s, down to his lips.

“I think you’re cute too, Prompto Argentum, with your strange words and your strange ways.”

His smile slips slightly, more somber now. He presses his teeth gently into his bottom lip, his glance still fixated on Prompto’s mouth.

“I might even call you beautiful,” he says, his eyes lifting to meet Prompto’s once more. “If you’d let me.”

He looks so much like Noct.

The thought makes his heart hurt. With regret, he pulls away slightly, trying to calm his now-racing heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking down at the picnic blanket. “I want to, I really do. I’m just... not really sure if I’m the kind of person you should be saying that to.”

Somnus goes very, very still for a long moment. When finally he moves, he clears his throat and returns to his former spot on the blanket, settling into his spot again.

“Of course,” he says. He sounds like he’s making a great effort to sound indifferent. “Let’s not spoil a lovely day, hm?”

“Somnus,” Prompto says desperately. “I’m sorry, it’s just— I like you so much, but I’m not ready for anything yet. I’ve lost so many people already and I can’t... I can’t...”

To his horror he feels his eyes watering, and a sob leaves him before he can stop himself. He sniffles and wipes at his eyes, making a frustrated noise. “Okay, no, wow, that was super uncool. I’m sorry for ruining today.”

Somnus’ hand jerks upward, as if he might reach out; he drops it instead, resting it on his knee, where he fusses with a crease in the fabric of his clothes.

“Your friend,” he says. “The prince. You said he _was_ a prince.”

Prompto smiles shakily. “Yeah... Noctis. My _best_ friend. He was a prince— well, a king, really, but he... he had to give himself up, to try and save all the people. He’s gone now, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

This time, he doesn’t even attempt to hide his crying.  
  
“I miss him so much. I miss all our friends and they’re still back there, in the dark, with the daemons, and I wish they could be here where it’s bright and Noct doesn’t have to be a king anymore but I don’t know how to get back to them and I’m starting to think I’ll never see them again. I don’t even know if they’ll still be _alive.”_

He’s rambling, he knows, and he presses a hand to his mouth to try and stem the flow. “I’m so sorry. You probably didn’t want to hear all that, and today was going so well too. I guess it just kinda piled up.”

“And I wine and dine you as though you’ve gone through none of this,” Somnus says, bitterly.

He heaves a sigh, and when he reaches out this time, he doesn’t stop himself— his hand moves to Prompto’s shoulder and sits there as a heavy, steady weight, his fingers squeezing reassuringly.

“As much as it might hurt to talk about all you’ve lost, I’m glad to hear it. It just means I know you that much better.”

He smiles and gives Prompto’s shoulder another squeeze before pulling his hand away.

“There’ll be time enough for everything when you’re ready,” he says. “Until then, please— if there’s _anything_ I can do to help you, or your friends, please let me know.”

Looking at Somnus right now is too painful, so Prompto closes his eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that,” he says, his voice thick.

He’s had to be strong for everyone else for so long that the idea of relying on someone is hard to imagine, but sometimes he doesn’t want to be strong anymore. Sometimes, he just wants to cry, just wants to feel safe again without having to hurt anyone. It’s a pain that goes even further than the long darkness, all the way to the moment Insomnia fell.

Maybe Pryna _had_ sent him here to change things, but maybe she had known he needed something impossible to pull him out of his own mind. Maybe this isn’t just for the world’s sake, but his own.

He opens his eyes again, and this time Somnus’ face is only Somnus’, and not his best friend’s.

“Thank you, Somnus,” he whispers. Then he smiles, just a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I can see why you’re such a good ruler.”

“And a good friend, someday,” Somnus says wryly. “I hope.”

Prompto doesn’t hesitate to take Somnus’ hand this time. “You already are a good friend,” he says seriously. “Please don’t doubt that.”

Somnus nods, resolute.

“We can still go to the hot spring, if you’d like,” he offers. “As friends.”

Prompto nods. His tears have already dried in the warmth of the sun. “I’d like that very much.”

With a flash of a smile, Somnus pulls away and turns to the picnic basket.

Somnus plucks two pastries from the basket, each with a careful latticework over the top, embellished with the delicate shapes of flowers.

“Ulwaat berry conserve,” he says. “There’s no sweeter taste on Eos.”

There are still so many tasty things to be eaten, and the sun’s still shining happily down on them; still chocobos to be ridden, and sights to be seen. It’s a world away from the one Prompto left behind, but it’s a beautiful one— one waiting to be explored.

Maybe today hasn’t been ruined after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Inlustris is beautiful at all hours, but in the early morning — before the sun has begun to warm the humble homes of mud-brick, and the cobblestone streets — it seems to take on an entirely different character. The narrow alleyways and sprawling avenues alike are empty, devoid of all life but for the labourers just beginning their day.

It’s the perfect time to begin a journey, before the sun is new, and so it is that Somnus, Prompto, and a retinue of loyal guards leave the city by chocobo, a flurry of ruffling white feathers.

It’s a long trek, and it takes them as the sun rises from the arid lands in the east to the lush climes of the west — it’s a delight even for Somnus to admire the scenery that passes them by, as long as it’s been since his last foray out of the city.

Every now and then he steals a glance at Prompto, just to get a look at his companion’s reaction to all of it. Prompto never disappoints.

They’ve had a hard day’s ride; their birds are fatigued, but not so much that a night’s rest won’t see them right as rain — and there’s enough daylight left by which to make their way to the hot springs.

It would be better without a guard in tow, but of course one of them insists on coming along while the others wait at the haven.

“For your safety, Highness,” he’d said gruffly. Orders from Ardyn, Somnus has no doubt.

By the time they make it within sight of the spring, Somnus is practically _itching_ to jump in. He can feel the heat of it from feet away, his cheeks a vibrant hue as he turns to Prompto.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” he asks, gesturing to the spring, where the water glistens a most magnificent turquoise.

Prompto sighs happily, and stretches out his arms. His fingers form a little rectangle, and he squints through them. “I wish I had my camera, this is beau-ti _-ful!”_

The blond is so full of these peculiar words, it can be difficult to keep up with him. Whether he’s calling Somnus a _dork_ or a _dude_ or a million other things besides, Somnus never knows whether he’s being teased or complimented.

“Your camera?” he asks.

“It’s a little device that lets us take photos of something,” Prompto attempts to explain. “Photos are like... extremely realistic drawings. An exact image of something, at the exact time it was captured, so you can keep the memory forever.”

Somnus feels his eyes go wide. It’s like nothing he’s ever heard of — and Prompto owns such a thing?

“It sounds like magiteknology,” he says. “There are scholars in Inlustris who study objects from the old world — I bet they’d love to get their hands on such a device.”

“It’s... not quite magitek,” Prompto says. He shifts his weight from foot to foot; he seems impatient to get down to the springs. “I think. But it’s pretty cool! Really wish I still had it with me.”

There’s no point in dallying; much as the springs might be a beautiful sight to behold, they’re much better actually enjoyed in the flesh. He sets off with a tip of his head; mercifully, the guard doesn’t follow along, although he remains within earshot.

“Are there many things like that, where you come from?” Somnus asks, as he steps carefully down the slope towards the water’s edge.

“Lots,” Prompto says. “Wait til you hear about phones, man. And like, internet. If I went into that now though, we probably would be stuck here talking about it all day.”

“I would gladly listen to you talk all day,” Somnus replies slyly.

But then, of course, the sting of Prompto’s prior rejection comes back to him and he tapers off, silent the rest of the way down to the water.

He’s tired and he aches from the long journey, so he has few reservations in stripping out of his riding clothes as he approaches the edge.

“Oh _dude,”_ Prompto squeaks, slapping his hands over his eyes. _“My guy,_ warn people first before you strip because I was _not_ expecting that!”

Somnus gives a breezy laugh. He’s not shy — never has been — so even as Prompto hides behind his hands, Somnus wriggles out of the last of his layers and lets everything drop to the ground.

“We’re all adults here,” he calls.

With a glance back over his shoulder to Prompto, he slips into the water, stepping in until he’s up to his middle. The groan he gives is almost obscene. The water’s almost too hot, but deliciously so.

“Could you turn around, please?” he hears Prompto ask. He looks over to see Prompto standing by the water’s edge, hands fisted in his robes and looking apprehensive.

Prompto is _shy,_ Somnus realises. He’d tease about it, but Prompto seems so earnest Somnus can’t bring himself to be mean.

“I’m afraid we aren’t quite so modest here in Lucis,” Somnus says, raising his voice as he turns his back to Prompto. “I do apologise if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He stretches his arms up over his head, the movement setting the finely-honed muscles of his back contorting.

The gasp that action earns is positively delightful.  
  
He waits one minute, and looks over his shoulder. It’s a risk, he knows, but the sight that greets him is worth it.  
  
Steam billows out around them, casting Prompto’s figure into a soft blur. Slowly, shyly, his blond stranger slides the robes he gave him down those pale and slender shoulders. Prompto has his back turned to Somnus, and the prince’s eyes travel unashamedly down the expanse of skin revealed.  
  
He looks away just in time for Prompto to turn back, and smiles to himself as he hears the splash of him entering the water.  
  
“Oh, wow! Hot hot hot,” Prompto chants. There is a swishing sound of water moving, and Prompto swims up beside Somnus with a wide smile. “This is so nice!”

The plumes of steam and the chalkiness of the mineral-rich water afford enough privacy that Somnus can’t see anything beneath the surface — much as his curiosity might have been piqued by the look he has already stolen.

“Worth the ride?” Somnus says. He lowers himself into the water, gliding a little away from Prompto and gracefully rolling onto his back. “There’s nothing quite like it to soothe away the aches. It’s only a shame there aren’t springs to recover in after the journey home.”

Prompto covers his face again. _”Somnus,”_ he whines.  
  
To Somnus’s satisfaction, he can see Prompto peeking through his fingers.

“What?” Somnus says, feigning innocence. He can’t keep at it for too long before a roguish grin breaks cross his lips.

He paddles lithely away, quite content to stay exposed, before rolling onto his front and gliding back to Prompto.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it all before,” he says.

“Theoretically,” Prompto says.

 _“Theoretically?”_ Somnus repeats.

Steam curls around his face, his dark hair hanging wet; he pushes it out of his eyes and looks at Prompto shrewdly.

“You haven’t, have you?” he says slowly. “You’ve never been with anyone.”

The red on Prompto’s face can’t be entirely due to the heat. He looks away, frowning. “So what if I haven’t? Nothing wrong with that.”

He seems offended, but that’s far from Somnus’s intention.

“You’re right,” Somnus says. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

The prince rubs at an aching muscle in his shoulder and tilts his head to the side.

“I’ll let you in on a secret. I didn’t have my first kiss until I was nineteen.”

Prompto looks back at him, the tension in his body slowly leaving. “Really?” he asks. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just... I find it hard to believe. I’m sure lots of people want to kiss you.”

Somnus nods. It’s something he doesn’t usually parade around, not that it ever really comes up with the people whose company he typically keeps.

“I suppose you could say I’ve had a sheltered life,” he says, shrugging. “Ardyn didn’t like me leaving the palace when I was younger — he knew there were people who envied him, and would try to use me against him. Sometimes at court there were girls I liked, boys too. I just didn’t know how to approach them.”

“Huh.” Prompto drifts over towards Somnus. “Well, that does make me feel better. I’m glad you’re not, like... judgy about it. Some people kind of are.”

“It’s not something I ever used to really think about,” Somnus replies. “My parents married young — it was expected of them. It was different for me and Ardyn.”

He wets his lips. There’s a damp strand of hair clinging to Prompto’s neck, drawing Somnus’s attention. It’d be so easy to reach out and brush it away — to touch his lips to the pale curve of Prompto’s neck.

“No judgement from me,” he says with a faint smile.

Prompto smiles like Somnus has brought him the sun as a gift. It’s almost blinding in its sweetness. “Thanks,” he says, “I guess I just get defensive about it. I should have known I can trust you, though!”

What would have happened, if they’d kissed when Somnus had wanted to? How differently would things have played out? Would they still be here?

It makes sense, though, that Prompto would have held back — knowing what Somnus does now.

He breathes out a sigh and tips his head back into the water, letting it bob on its surface and closing his eyes.

“Have you ever thought about it?” he murmurs. “Being with somebody like that?”

Prompto laughs. “It hasn’t been that long since I was a teenager,” he says. “I definitely thought about it. But...”  
  
He trails off, and Somnus waits patiently for his answer.  
  
“I’ve never really thought of myself as someone people might want,” he says very softly. “And even if they did, I’m not... necessarily what they’d expect.”

To look at Prompto — his sun-blond hair, his cheerful demeanor — one would never think he had a more pensive nature. As he lets Somnus in a little bit more each day they know each other, the prince is starting to see a different side to the one Prompto shows.

He nibbles at his lips and treads water for a moment. He knows what he’d say to charm somebody in this situation, but he doesn’t think Prompto needs, or even _wants,_ to _be_ charmed.

“I think…”

Somnus trails off and looks up at the sky, where the steam spiralling overhead obscures its golden hue.

“When you find someone that you want to be with, and the moment is right,” he says, “you stop worrying about those things. It’s like when you kiss someone for the first time, and the pieces all fall into place. You just… know.”

Prompto doesn’t reply, then to Somnus’ surprise, he feels a tap on his shoulder. When he meets Prompto’s gaze, it’s full of fondness.  
  
“Thanks,” he says. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but... it’s really nice that we can talk about stuff like this.”

“You’re different, Prompto,” Somnus says with a smile. “I knew it from the moment I first met you.”

Prompto looks like he is about to reply, but suddenly, he tilts his head to look at the darkening sky. His eyes go wide.  
  
It’s sundown.  
  
Prompto grabs Somnus’ shoulder tightly. “We should get out of here.”

It takes Somnus too long to register Prompto’s words; too long to understand what’s wrong. He can see the fear in Prompto’s eyes, though, and his grip is almost tight enough to hurt.

The daemons. Of course. He was so wrapped up in Prompto that he forgot.

He’s only been face-to-face with a daemon once before; it’s not an experience he wants to repeat.

“Let’s go,” he says hurriedly. Reaching up, he grips Prompto’s hand and tugs at it, before letting go to wade ahead of him toward the shore.

But Prompto seems to have lost all his shyness from before. He catches up to Somnus quickly and scrambles to the shore; he snatches up his robe and shrugs it on.  
  
“Where’s the guard?” He looks around wildly.  
  
Despite fearing for their lives, Somnus can tell there is something cold and determined in his face, different from the way they were just a few moments ago.

Somnus feels icy dread wash over him. He’s still dripping wet, the water from the spring soaking through his clothes as soon as they slip over his skin. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s hardly the most pressing matter right now.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice coming out in a fearful whisper.

Prompto may have a cool sort of resolve in the face of danger, but Somnus’s hands are trembling so badly he can barely get the fastenings done up on his clothing.

His neck prickles as he glances around in the steadily-falling darkness, frantically searching for the guard.

“Prompto,” he says weakly, pointing. “O- over there.”

Prompto takes his hand and runs towards their guard. Somnus nearly stumbles, but rights himself and keeps pace.  
  
Out of nowhere, a daemon materialises behind their guard.  
  
“Look out!” Prompto shouts— but it’s too late.  
  
They’re so close to the guard that the hot droplets of blood hit them as he is stabbed. Prompto dives for the fallen crossbow by the fallen body and aims.  
  
“See if you can heal him! I’ll cover you!” he yells, and fires a shot straight at the daemon.

For too long, Somnus can only stand and stare. He can feel the heat of the blood splattering his face — can smell its copper tang. The daemon is so close Somnus can see the taint of the Scourge rippling across its putrid flesh.

Prompto’s voice snaps him out of it, just barely. It feels like he’s moving in slow motion as he jerks to life, rushing forward to help the wounded guard.

Healing, at least, comes intuitively; he can feel the man’s life slipping away, and he’s so focused on grabbing onto that tiny, flickering little flame left within him to be afraid any more.

“I don’t know if I can heal him,” he blurts. “He’s—”

A shudder of revulsion goes through him, and the stench of decay fills his nose. The daemon’s close, so close he can _taste_ the taint of the Scourge.

“Oh no you don’t!” he hears Prompto shout, and with a revolting spray of ichor, a crossbow lodges straight in the daemon’s throat.  
  
It lets out a gurgle, then seems to evaporate into a dark mist.

Somnus looks around as though the daemon might jump out again at any moment, as though it might only be taunting them; when it doesn’t reappear, they seem to be safe for the time being.

“We need to get him to the haven,” he says, looking frantically over at Prompto. “I can’t heal him on my own.”

Prompto nods. Now that the immediate threat is taken care of, he takes time to give Somnus a reassuring smile. “Can you carry him? Don’t worry about anything but getting him to the haven — I’ll protect you.”

Somnus still doesn’t understand how Prompto can be so calm right now, when his own heart’s still thundering within his chest. Still, he nods and pulls the guard to his feet, holding him aloft as best he can while he uses whatever strength he has leftover to hang onto the fading light within the man.

“You were amazing,” he blurts. He feels ashen as he looks at Prompto, like he’s half-dead himself. “How did you do that?”

“I’ve just got good aim!” Prompto makes a strange pointing gesture with one hand and a clicking noise with his mouth; he winks, and Somnus swears his heart skips a beat. “Remember I told you I helped with rescue efforts? This is exactly what that involved.”

“Oh.”

Somnus is the prince of an entire kingdom, host to powers gifted him by the Astrals themselves — and he’s apparently less adept at defending himself than this stranger who appeared one day in his palace. It makes sense, of course, that Prompto had to have been able to hold his own, if he’d made it all the way here from his home with only a single scratch to show for it; Somnus just never expected it.

“And you just… kill them?” he says. “It’s that easy?”

Prompto sighs. “No,” he admits. “It’s never really easy. I don’t like being a killer. I’m always scared, all the time... But I pledged to do anything to save my friend, and I can’t just— leave when people need my help.”  
  
His face pales at his own words, but he says nothing more.

It’s not far to the haven, but far enough that the rest of Somnus’s escort heard nothing of the commotion. When Somnus, Prompto and the injured guard come into view, the others rush to help, weapons at hand, barking orders to Prompto and the prince alike.

Somnus still feels ill as he makes his way up to the haven, and he’d be more than happy to let his guards take over — but they need his healing magic, so his job isn’t over yet.

He’s shaking again, he realises, as they lay the man out for him to tend. He takes in a deep breath to steady himself, and looks over at Prompto.

“Would you come and help?”

Prompto doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course. Tell me what to do.”

With one hand covering the wound, his fingers slick with blood, Somnus beckons Prompto over with the other.

“I’m not strong enough to heal him,” he says. “Not with such a grave wound. I might be able to do it if I draw on the haven’s energy, but I need you to keep your hand on his wound so he doesn’t bleed out before I can help him.”

Prompto bites his lip, but nods. “Yeah, I can do that. But please, just heal him as much as he needs to survive. I— no one can afford to lose you too.”

It’s hard, sometimes, to call on the right energy needed to heal. Somnus knows it comes like second nature to Ardyn, but it’s different for _him._

With the guards gathered around, barking orders in the dark — they may be safe within the boundaries of the haven, but their duties are far from over — it’s difficult to clear his mind. He chooses to focus on Prompto: on his voice, on the pale eyes that seem to turn violet in the glow of the haven.

The prince gives a resolute nod of his head and, once Prompto’s in place, presses his hands to the hard rock of the haven beneath him.

It’s not how his abilities work, not technically, but when the Oracle blessed this place as a sanctuary for travellers, she left some of her energy within it. In a way, he’s tapping into _her_ healing power to augment his own.

It’s taxing, though, as it always is: the push and pull of power, unlocking something deep and primal within him. With one hand clutching the ground, he moves the other over Prompto’s where he keeps pressure on the injured man’s wound.

He’s held Prompto’s hand before, enough times that he can remember vividly. Even as Somnus closes his eyes in concentration, he brings to mind an image of Prompto’s face, rapt with excitement, reaching out a hand to drag him along on some adventure.

His heart soars — with his own magic, that of the Oracle, and something else. Something that fills him with warmth, that makes his heart ache.

The guard’s breathing is so slow, his pulse so weak. It would be all too easy to give in to doubt, to accept that perhaps he’s beyond Somnus’s meagre abilities.

 _No._ Somnus lowers his hand to cover Prompto’s, and with the warmth of it he renews his resolve, pouring ever fibre of his will into mending the tissues beneath their combined touch.

It’s so slow, so painstakingly delicate that at first he fears it isn’t working. But then, with a rush of exhilaration, he realises that the man’s blood has stopped leaking from the wound — that his heart has begun to beat more strongly with each pulse.

Somnus opens his eyes and looks at Prompto with a grin—

And swoons, the world going dim around him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful, enthusiastic response to our little fic <3 We're having so much fun collaborating, and it makes it even sweeter to read all your lovely comments.

The tale of their nighttime adventure has spread through the whole palace by dinner. 

It had taken the better part of a day to reach the palace from the haven, even longer than it had taken to get there in the first place. It had been slow going with a still-woozy prince and a barely-conscious guard, but they’d made it, and both Somnus and the guard had been whisked off to Ardyn immediately.

Prompto peeks into the room where Somnus is sleeping. Ardyn is sitting at his bedside; he doesn’t look overly concerned, and that more than anything eases Prompto’s worries. 

“I’ve brought you both dinner,” he says, and walks into the room with the tray before Ardyn can say anything. “There’s enough excitement around the palace tonight that I figured you might not want the servants to have more gossip fodder.”

“Thank you, Prompto. That was very thoughtful of you.”

With a sigh, Ardyn looks to Somnus. Prompto couldn’t really see it before— the family resemblance— but it’s pretty obvious now, in the angle of Ardyn’s jaw, in the straight nose. He’s looking fondly at his brother, and  _ gods, _ Prompto never would’ve believed it possible for Ardyn Izunia to look  _ fond. _

“I’ll allow him some more rest,” he says, glancing up at Prompto. “I dare say he needs all that he can get. Would you like to dine with me instead?”

Prompto hesitates. It’s not like he’s never done this before— he’s even slept beside Ardyn in a caravan, though it seems so long ago. But he nods, and sets down the tray on a little table near the bed. 

“I’ll just, uh, get something to cover it,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t steal a prince’s dinner.”

Ardyn smiles wryly.

“Somnus  _ is _ rather particular about his food,” he says. “Although I’m sure he’d forgive  _ you, _ at any rate.”

Prompto flushes when he catches the emphasis in Ardyn’s words, and ducks his head. “I’ll pass,” he mutters. He unfolds one of the light cloth napkins and covers Somnus’ plate.

Ardyn lifts an eyebrow, although he says nothing. When he reaches for his own plate, he doesn’t set into it— instead he takes the bread roll at the edge of his meal and carefully breaks it in two, offering one half to Prompto.

Prompto blinks at him. “Won’t you be hungry?” he asks, although his hand twitches up instinctively. It really does smell divine.

“Never so hungry that I couldn’t share,” Ardyn says.

Prompto remembers that this is the man who gave a dying stranger his last sip of water. He bites his lip, then reaches out for the bread roll.

His fingers brush against Ardyn’s and he shivers.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Ardyn’s hand lingers for a moment before he pulls it away. He turns toward his brother once more; although he’s angled away from Prompto, he can see the frown creasing his brow.

“Is he alright?” Prompto asks, worried. “He just... went down like a sack of bricks. It was scary.”

“He pushed himself too far,” Ardyn says.

He moves a hand, and for a second it seems like he might reach out and take Somnus’ where it rests on the bed.

“He’s reckless,” he says. “I don’t know whether he did it out of some need to prove something to himself, or—”

With a shake of his head, he sighs. Idly, he picks at his food, although Prompto notices he hasn’t eaten any of it yet. 

The bread is getting cold in Prompto’s hand. He can’t meet Ardyn’s eyes when he whispers, “I told him to do it. I told him to heal that man.”

“And he would have died if Somnus hadn’t done anything,” Ardyn says briskly. “Don’t blame yourself for my brother’s impetuosity. It should have been needlework, and he took to it with a hammer.”

Despite himself, Prompto giggles. Ardyn is so strange in this world, but it’s refreshing.

He feels comfortable enough to bite into his bread roll half, letting out a little noise of contentment. “I hope he recovers soon, but it looks like you’ve got it all in hand. It’s nice to see how much you care about each other.”

Ardyn gives Somnus one last look before turning to Prompto with a quiet smile.

“Of course,” he says. “He’s my blood. We may not get to see each other much, but he’s what matters most.”

“You two make me wish I grew up with siblings,” he sighs. He finishes up his bread and licks his fingers, then eyes the rest of the food on the tray.

“Having a sibling is… certainly an experience,” Ardyn replies. He seems to be choosing to be diplomatic about his choice of words.

He looks at Prompto then — seems to notice the way he’s eyeing up the tray. With a soft laugh, Ardyn gestures to his untouched dinner.

“Help yourself,” he says. “You need it more than I do.”

Prompto takes a piece of fruit before Ardyn can change his mind. It’s a peach, or what he imagines a peach would have been like two thousand years ago, and he bites into it happily. 

“I didn’t have siblings, but I had friends,” he says, wiping the juices from his mouth with his other hand. He hopes Ardyn is as relaxed about etiquette as Somnus is. “Close enough to be brothers, or at least I think so. I love them so much but I think we drove each other crazy like, half the time.”

Subtly, the corner of Ardyn’s lips curls in a smirk.

“That’s precisely what it’s like to have a brother,” he says. “We have some years between us, but he always used to follow me around like a faithful familiar. It got him into all sorts of scrapes.”

“So cute!” Prompto gushes. “Okay, you can’t just leave me hanging, man. Tell me a story.”

Ardyn heaves a sigh that somehow manages to be as affectionate as it is weary. He’s smiling as he casts a glance at his brother where he still lies dreaming peacefully.

“Before we came to Inlustris,” he says, “we lived in a small village. It was rather unremarkable — you were born there and, if the Scourge didn’t take you by some misfortune, you died there. Our father had just begun working in the ruins not far from where we lived, so we were being paid richly by the scholars in Inlustris who appreciate such things.

“Somnus was always a bit jealous as a boy. He was years younger than I, so he couldn’t join me when Gilgamesh and I ventured out on hunts, and our father was often gone for days at a time. Our mother spoiled him, and he used to hate it — hated being treated like a pampered little prince.’

Ardyn smirks, turning his face away as though to hide it.

“He disappeared one day, while I was away from home. When I returned that evening, my mother was worried sick. She had everyone in the village searching for him: we didn’t have the Crystal in those days, so daemons prowled freely in the streets.

“We racked our minds for where he might have gone, and it was only when I noticed his training sword was gone that I knew precisely where we’d find him.”

Prompto scoots forward to the edge of his seat. “Where was he?”

“The ruins,” Ardyn says, with a chuckle. “He’d wanted to be like our father, so he sneaked in while my mother wasn’t looking. When we found him, he was covered in cuts and scrapes, his hair turned brown from all the dust. He was so proud of himself — he said he’d gone hunting monsters. I stayed up with him while he told me the tales of his adventures, until he fell asleep.”

Prompto makes a high-pitched noise and puts his hands on his cheeks. “Sooooo adorable. I can so imagine him doing that!”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Ardyn adds, wryly. “He seems rather intent on impressing you.”

Prompto blushes and looks down. “I don’t see why,” he mumbles. “But it’s sweet.”

One of Ardyn’s eyebrows raises, although he says nothing.

With a weary sigh, he rises to his feet and stretches his long legs. His wandering takes him to the window, where the city view spans beyond.

“I’m glad it turned out all for the best on your journey,” he murmurs, so quietly it could be to himself. “Others might not have been so lucky.”

“No kidding,” Prompto says with a deep sigh. “I’ve been on some really bad rescue missions. No rescue mission is ever fun, but some are just... I wish I could scrub the memories out of my brain.” 

He looks up to where Ardyn is standing by the window. He makes a striking picture— even before, Prompto had always thought Ardyn had such a distinctive look. It makes him wish he had his camera again, just to capture the soft, pensive look on his face, the tired slump to his otherwise regal posture.

“I’m grateful for the work you do,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I’ve told you that yet. I’ve seen whole towns overrun with Scourge, and it breaks my heart to see people become like that. So whatever you’re doing to heal them... it can only be good.”

Wordlessly, Ardyn clasps his hands in front of him. When he turns to Prompto there’s something strange in his expression, something Prompto can’t quite figure out.

“I wonder, sometimes,” he says. He sounds almost— bitter? “If the Astrals could bless our bloodline, and the Oracle’s, why wouldn’t they bestow their gifts upon others? The world is so very big, and we can only heal so many in our time in it.”

Prompto thinks about how Ardyn must have failed in this time, and the daemons still running rampant two millennia later. The mystery of how he became Ardyn  _ Izunia _ still hangs over their heads, not a healer but a source of the Scourge. Maybe it had all gotten too much for one man to bear.

Maybe this is the change Prompto is here to make.

“I don’t know,” he says, “I’ve always thought it was unfair.”    
  
He stands up and moves to be closer to Ardyn, so close he could almost reach out and touch him.

He doesn’t, of course.

“I can’t heal the Scourge,” he says. “But if there’s anything, anything at all, that I can do to help you, I want to do it.”

Ardyn blinks, and nods.

“I understand what it’s like to feel powerless,” he says. “At such times, it helped me as a young man to pray. I had my own prayers answered when the gods gave me my mission. Perhaps you might find your own calling in the temple, too, such as it might be.”

He smiles, and this time  _ he _ reaches out, touching a gentle hand to Prompto’s arm.

“You might not be able to heal, but there are those who would benefit greatly from your kind spirit.”

Bahamut’s temple.

Bahamut had dragged Noctis, screaming and frightened, into the Crystal. It had been Bahamut who had told of the prophecy that would take both Ardyn and Noctis from the world. It had been  _ Bahamut _ who had given Ardyn the gift of healing, who had blessed the bloodlines and orchestrated everything.

If there is any Astral he should be praying to, it’s Bahamut.

Prompto literally  _ jumps _ at the chance. “Yes!” he whisper-shouts, still mindful of Somnus sleeping. “What do I do? When can I start? Wait, would I have to become a monk or something?”

Ardyn laughs. Prompto’s heard him laugh before, in the future— the present?— but not like this. His eyes twinkle in response to Prompto’s enthusiasm.

“No need to get ahead of yourself,” he says. “They’re grateful for any volunteers, whether those of faith or not. Speak to the abbess as soon as you’ve recovered from your travels. She’s sure to know how you might help.”

Prompto is ecstatic. He’s sure he’ll be going tomorrow, as soon as he makes sure Somnus is alright. Finally, he’s actually going to have something to  _ do _ around here instead of wander around and mooch off of royalty, and if he can help lighten Ardyn’s burden in this time, maybe the terrible future he knows won’t need to come to pass.

Otherwise, why would he be here?

Without thinking, he throws his arms around Ardyn’s waist and hugs him close. It lasts less than a second, but he’s still grinning when they spring apart.

“Thank you,” he says. “I won’t let you down. I won’t let anyone down.”

Ardyn seems taken aback by the embrace— but he doesn’t push Prompto away. One of his hands pats gently at Prompto’s shoulder.

“Hey!”

It’s not Ardyn— Somnus is awake, his voice bleary and hoarse.

“I’m the one who almost died. Where’s my hug?”

Ardyn laughs again, loud and clear as the ring of a bell.

Prompto grins and sprints towards Somnus, jumping straight into the bed and tackling him in a hug.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crosses fingers that this actually updates with the right date*
> 
> Thank you so much for all the fantastic comments! Bish and I are having a whirl writing this, and every time we plot out some future detail I feel like I'm going to explode waiting for weeks to share it with you all ;_;

It amazes many that even after travelling on pilgrimage for months at a time, healing everyone he meets along the way, Ardyn can spend his time in Inlustris doing more of the same. He’s a frequent fixture at the various temples around town, though — the temple of Leviathan, devoted to sheltering women; the temple of Shiva, to orphaned children. He’s most often found at the Temple of Bahamut, however, where those afflicted with the Starscourge come to find charity.

He’s still weary after attending Somnus and the guard he so recklessly healed, although not so hard done by that he can’t make time in the morning to make his rounds of the temples.

He saves Bahamut’s place of worship for last, as he always does: he could easily spend all day healing those touched by the Scourge’s taint.

There’s something calming about being back in the temple, so many years after his time in service here. The clergy are serene as they tend to those who are afflicted, the lights kept soft. Those too far gone to be healed are kept peaceful with salves and tinctures, to ease their suffering.

It’s a different sight to what one might find on the streets of Inlustris. Ardyn certainly makes sure during his reign that the afflicted are treated with more dignity than they ever were when he grew up, but prejudice runs deep.

He’s healing an old woman, his hand clasped around her gnarled fingers — he can’t help but wonder what stories her skin could tell, so much has she seen — when he hears his name being called from across the chambers. He waits until the rite is complete, leaving the woman with a warm smile, before he turns to look.

The abbess stands with someone not in the temple’s robes of black and gold — when he sees a flash of blonde hair, he realises that it’s Somnus’s new friend, Prompto.

“Ardyn,” the abbess says. She’s one of the few who’s known him so long that to call him  _ Your Majesty _ would feel like an insult to them both. “We have a very eager young volunteer today. I wonder if you might like to show him what we do here.”

Ardyn’s lips curl in a smile.

“I’d be more than happy to,” he says. “We’re already acquainted.”

Prompto gives a smile and a shy wave. “Hi Ardyn!”

It’s certainly an improvement from their ill-fated first meeting. Ardyn is relieved to see that it all seems to be water under the bridge.

“Prompto,” he says. “Good morning!”

“I’ll leave you to it,” the abbess says. She lays a gentle hand on Prompto’s arm, and inclines her head to Ardyn as she goes.

“Did you have a preference to how you’d like to help?” Ardyn asks, turning to Prompto. “Are you trained at dressing wounds?”

“A little,” Prompto says. “I can do some basic first aid.”

With a nod, Ardyn gestures for Prompto to follow. He doesn’t wait before setting off — one of the keys of healing is  _ haste. _

“The Scourge affects people in different ways,” he says, “as I’m sure you know. One of the late signs is sores, which can become infected. In those who are too weak to yet be healed, it’s important to treat such wounds quickly.”

Prompto nods, keeping up with Ardyn’s briskness without complaint.

“When I heal, it takes almost as much out of them as it does me,” Ardyn explains. “Which is precisely why Somnus should have been more cautious — by some fortune he didn’t kill the guard and  _ himself, _ but it could have been much worse.”

He gestures to a young girl lying on a cot in the corner, curled up beneath blankets and furs. Her face is pale — unnaturally pallid. Normally, a child like her would be his first priority.

“She’s afflicted,” he says. “But she has a weakness of the heart, something that has plagued her from birth. If I were to heal her too quickly her heart might give out altogether, so I’ve been tending to her,  _ slowly, _ each day.”

“I never even thought about complications with the Scourge,” Prompto says softly. His brow is creased with worry, and he bites his lip when he looks at Ardyn, as if in deep thought. “What do you need me to do?”

“We’ll start with something simple first,” Ardyn says. He gestures to an alcove at the edge of the room, in which a stove sits with with a large metal basin simmering on top of it, and a string hanging over it from which an array of rags hang to dry.

“Let’s fetch water in the well out behind the cloisters, and we can see about tending to some of these wounds.”

Ardyn spends almost the whole day teaching Prompto how to tend to the sick and injured. Prompto hangs on his every word, his expression serious, but something about him makes the burden of work lighter. 

It may be the way he takes to healing like a fish to water, or the genuine compassion he has for those under his care. He speaks to them as though they are already his friends, when the rest of society has shunned them as unclean. Ardyn can see some of the light return to their eyes when Prompto treat them with kindness and respect. 

How remarkable.

Still, Prompto is unused to this kind of work. He doesn’t say anything about it, but it’s clear to everyone that he’s growing tired.

He seems like the type who’d never willingly rest when there’s some good deed to be done, and the last thing Ardyn needs is Somnus’s companion — and his own newfound assistant — dropping in exhaustion.

There are aches in Ardyn’s bones, the fruits of a long days’ labours. It’s nothing that he won’t recover from, but he could use a break, too. Perhaps some fresh air might do them both good.

He crosses the temple floor to where Prompto sits chatting with a young boy while dressing the sores on his arm. The child has such an animated smile on his face; it’s a relief to see him genuinely  _ happy _ when he had been in so much pain. Prompto really does seem to be a natural.

“Prompto,” Ardyn says, touching the young man’s shoulder. “Walk with me, when you’re done here. I’m afraid I may have reached my limit for the moment.”

Prompto smiles up at him. “Sure thing,” he says. He finishes off his work, and does some strange complicated handshake-punch with the boy before going to join Ardyn.

They fall easily into step with one another, even with their substantial difference in stature; Ardyn is in no rush, his legs still weary from his travels.

He brings Prompto out to the cloisters, and from there to the gardens beyond. The sun has almost set — it’s a strange thing to enter the the temple by day and leave to the darkness. Torches burn merrily along the walls, however, keeping the daemons at bay.

Ardyn takes a seat on a stone bench beneath a wizened tree, and gestures for Prompto to sit beside him.

Prompto does so, flopping so gracelessly Ardyn thinks he might slip straight off. “Man, I’m beat!” he announces. “In a good way, though.”

“It’s good to take some time to recover,” Ardyn says. “The work we’ve done today takes it out of you not only physically, but emotionally. It’s not for everyone, but you’ve taken to it admirably.”

Prompto smiles. “It’s tough, but it’s been amazing. Everyone’s been really nice about it too. Thank you for letting me come here.”

“I suspect you would have found your way here, eventually,” Ardyn says.

There’s something about Prompto, something that he can’t quite put his finger on. He reminds Ardyn of the Oracle, in many ways: sweet and full of kindness.

“Perhaps we should call it a day,” he suggests. “You’ve done so much good already.”

Prompto looks around. “Are you sure?” he asks. “There were still some people there I hadn’t gotten to...”

Ardyn knows this feeling all too well — the compulsion to help just  _ one more person. _ It’s never one more, though; one more turns into two, into a handful, into a dozen. He can see just how depleted Prompto is, in spite of the eagerness suffused through him.

“There are other volunteers,” he says kindly. “If you get some rest today, you can come back again tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Suppose so,” Prompto says hesitantly. He kicks his feet idly. “I could do with a good night’s sleep. And food, because I’m starving!”

“We have plenty of that at the palace,” Ardyn remarks. “We could dine together, if you like? If Somnus consents to my stealing you away for a few more hours.”

There is that hesitance again, before Prompto seems to come to a decision. “I’m sure he can live without me for a little longer.”

Ardyn resists the urge to tell Prompto that his brother’s probably pining away at the palace, like a faithful pet awaiting his master’s return. Still, he wears a secret smile at the thought of it.

“Precisely,” he says. “I feel we haven’t yet had the chance to get to know each other. It may help if we’re to work together here.”

“I’d like that,” Prompto says. Inexplicably, he laughs. “I feel like I’ve known you for a while now, but not really known you.”

Such a peculiar young man. Peculiar, but kind, and gentle. He’s a good addition to the temple.

Ardyn rises to his feet and extends a hand to help Prompto stand.

“Shall we?” he says.

A beat, and then Prompto takes his hand. “Lead the way!”

* * *

There are few luxuries in life finer than a warm meal and pleasant company. Ardyn’s fortunate for Gilgamesh; even the longest, most wearisome journey can become an adventure, given the right person with which to share the trials and tribulations.

Prompto, it transpires, is  _ remarkably _ good company. Perhaps it’s his fresh perspective on things, being from far away as he is, or perhaps it’s simply his kindly demeanour. They’ve talked over supper about many things, from Prompto’s time in Inlustris, to Ardyn’s pilgrimages, to the Land of the Sun that came before.

“Somnus says you’re quite something with a crossbow,” he says, tapping his cup thoughtfully. “It’s a small miracle you were there to save him when he froze.”

“Honestly, I’m glad too,” Prompto says. He seems shy, like the attention to his achievement is too much. “And I’m glad it was a crossbow! I mean, I can probably tell the pointy end of a sword from the blunt end, but we might’ve been toast if the guard didn’t have a ranged weapon.”

“I believe my brother forgot which was the  _ pointy end _ as you put it,” Ardyn says with a wry shake of his head. “He’s usually rather adept. Against human opponents, at least.”

“Not used to fighting daemons, huh?”

Ardyn clears his throat, but the lump that appears to have lodged there doesn’t seem inclined to budge. He leans toward the pitcher of water in front of Prompto and uses it to fill his empty wine cup, wetting his throat.

“He’s only seen one in the flesh — so to speak — once before,” he says. “When he was a boy. Off getting up to no good, of course, in those ruins he couldn’t quite seem to stay away from.”

“Oh... oh no,” Prompto says. “That must have been scary.”

Ardyn nods.

“He took a rather nasty blow to the back. He still has a scar there, I believe.”

An odd look passes over Prompto’s face, but it is gone within an instant. “Was it you who healed him?”

Ardyn takes a halting breath. It’s peculiar now to tell this story to a stranger — one he hasn’t even told Somnus, who was so young he’s probably forgotten much of it.

“Yes,” he says somberly. “When the daemon attacked, it caused a cave-in — we were trapped, just the two of us. He was bleeding, and he could barely move, and I… I’d been injured, when the walls tumbled down.

“I did the best that I could to heal him, and I held his hand and told him stories until the villagers found us and dragged us out. My mother worried for days on end that he’d been infected with the Scourge.”

Suddenly, a small, freckled hand closes over his own. “I’m sorry,” Prompto says quietly. “That must have been so hard for you both. But I’m really glad that you all turned out okay. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Ardyn knows, when he meets Prompto’s eye, that this young man means what he says. He supposes it’s a relief, in some small way — that perhaps now he won’t be the only one worrying about keeping Somnus out of trouble.

He remembers those long days and nights of sitting by Somnus’s bedside, praying for his recovery; remembers the nightmares he’d had that his sweet, brash younger brother wouldn’t pull through. Even now, he doesn’t know what he’d do if something were happen to Somnus. He worries about it every time he leaves Inlustris.

“I don’t believe I’ve told you how grateful I am for your presence here, Prompto,” Ardyn says, with a genuine smile. “You’ve brought new life to this place, and to my brother.”

Prompto laughs, and scratches bashfully at the back of his head. “Haven’t done all that much,” he says. “If anything, this place, and you guys... you don’t even know how much I needed this. I didn’t realise how close I was to losing all hope until I found it again.”

“You’ve certainly made your mark here already,” Ardyn replies. “The work you did today was priceless. If it has been of good to you to come here, however, than I’d consider it doubly fortunate.”

Prompto smiles, full of shyness, but he leans forward, soaking in Ardyn’s praise like a flower in the sun. “You have no idea how good it’s been.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ardyn says. 

He does seem more confident now — less the flighty bird he’d been on their first few encounters. It’s a pleasure to see.

He takes a sip from his wine cup, and remembers too late that he’d traded it for water. With a face, he sets it aside.

“Shall I see you at the temple again tomorrow?” he asks.

“You bet!” A strange turn of phrase, but Ardyn can glean the meaning from the eagerness in Prompto’s voice.

“Wonderful,” Ardyn replies. “We may make a healer of you yet.”

“Never been a healer before...” The prospect seems to enthuse him. “I always used to be the one to use up the curatives.”

Ardyn can’t help but laugh.

“Hopefully you’ll have better luck here, hm? Let’s consider the daemon attack an anomaly.”

“Yeah... still scary, but we’ll do the best we can.” Prompto’s voice lowers until it’s just barely audible. “If we get rid of the Scourge, maybe we can get rid of daemons.”

Ardyn lifts an eyebrow. It’s certainly a nice thought.

“I’ve thought often of it — whether there is an end to the Scourge. I…”

_ Sometimes I fear even the Astrals themselves can’t purge this plague once and for all. _

He swallows the thought down. He must have  _ faith, _ always, even on the blackest night.

“All I can do is work with the Oracle to cleanse it as best we can.”

Prompto slams a hand down on the table. “The Oracle!” he exclaims. “Can we meet her? Can we, can we?”

It’s difficult not to smile when Prompto is so bright and eager.

“I’m sure it can be arranged,” he chuckles. “She comes to Inlustris every so often — I believe she’s in Tenebrae now.”

“Ahh, that would be so cool!” Prompto sighs. “Do you know her well?”

“You might say that,” Ardyn says.

He picks idly at the food in front of him. Come to mention it, it’s probably about time they correspond with one another. With any luck, Umbra will show up — the Messenger has quite the gift of good timing.

“Our work often keeps us apart,” he admits. “We try to keep in touch when we can.”

“Aw, must be nice. I miss my friends.” Prompto leans back and yawns, patting his stomach. For as much as he seems to adore food, and hoards it like a starving man, Ardyn has noticed he doesn’t tend to eat all that much. A remnant of whatever harsh conditions he had experienced before coming to Lucis, no doubt.

“Perhaps you should get some rest,” Ardyn suggests gently. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”

Prompto blinks sleepy tears out of his eyes and sighs. “Yeah. I guess so. It’s been really fun hanging out with you, though.” He looks surprised at his own words, then smiles. “We should definitely do this again.”

“I agree,” Ardyn says, rising to his feet. “I’ve rather enjoyed your company.”

He moves around the table and offers a hand to Prompto.

“I can escort to your chambers, if you like.”

Prompto stares at him for a beat too long. When he puts his hand in Ardyn’s, it is small and warm, like the smile he gives him. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did folks get a chance to play Episode Ardyn yet? Don't worry, there won't be any spoilers here — this was written weeks in advance.
> 
> Do prepare to have your hearts trampled on a little by this chapter, nevertheless...

Over time, Prompto learns to love Inlustris. 

Over time, Inlustris learns to love Prompto back.

His complexion has erupted in masses of freckles, and he’s not quite as thin as he was when he first arrived. He can keep more food down now that he’s gotten used to the richness and abundance of it, and he takes full advantage of it every single day. The palace staff seem to like him well enough, and he always finds his favourite things on the table at every meal; Somnus and Ardyn have gotten used to offering him bits of their own food, sometimes even before he asks. Whatever he doesn’t eat, he shares with his patients— his  _ friends _ — at the temple.

His work there has earned him the respect of the abbess and all the other volunteers, and word must have spread because he doesn’t get suspicious stares anymore when he walks around the city. People let him be, or nod and wave when he passes, and the relief is like a physical burden being lifted.

All in all, Inlustris has been great.

It’s still not home, though. Not really. There are times when the light catches in Somnus’ hair, and Prompto’s fingers itch to dig out his camera and ask him to pose in that stupid way Noctis always did. Sometimes Ardyn’s face is too soft, too gentle, and Prompto can’t bear to see the kindness on his face when he remembers what Ardyn becomes.

When he gets home— _if_ he gets home— he doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at Ardyn without crying.

For now, though, he pushes the thoughts out of his mind. He’s hanging out with Somnus again, in those palace gardens that he loves, and everything is good. 

“Stay still!” Prompto says. His bit of charcoal sweeps over the paper, in the vague shape of Somnus’ hair. “I want to get you perfect.”

Somnus flashes Prompto a winning smile. It’s easy to wonder if he  _ ever _ takes anything seriously.

“You don’t think I’m already perfect, hm?”

“Hmmm....” Prompto looks at Somnus closely. 

It’s not that Somnus isn’t handsome. He is, undeniably so— but his jaw is a little too square, his shoulders a little too broad, and his hair not quite the right cut. 

Prompto isn’t supposed to think about that right now.

“Nope!” he answers cheerfully.

Somnus’ features turn almost comically in disappointment. Maybe he’s not used to not being humoured— oh, who’s Prompto kidding? Of  _ course _ he’s not.

One of Somnus’ hands lifts to touch his face, as if to feel for any imperfections. There aren’t any, of course, but he seems convinced.

“Oh, I was just kidding, Som.” Prompto tries to reassure him. “You’re gorgeous, okay? Please don’t look like a kicked puppy, I can’t take it.”

Somnus huffs out a sigh. He still idly runs his fingers over his skin for a moment, though, like he can’t quite shake his conviction.

“You can be cruel when you want to be,” he says, although he’s smiling when he meets Prompto’s eye. “Your tongue can be just as sharp as that crossbow you seem to have no trouble handling.”

“I’m just teasing!” Prompto cries. He goes back to his drawing, adding one last stroke before he decides enough is enough. He may as well show it to Somnus now, and hopefully it’ll get him to stop worrying about his face. “Here, see what you think. I’m not really good at traditional art but I did my best.”

Somnus seems all too happy to get up from his perch. He scurries over to Prompto, practically hanging over his shoulder as he leans in to look.

“Is my jaw really that  _ big?” _ he asks in dismay.

Prompto gasps. “Mean! I just said I did my best!”

“You’re not the only one who can tease,” Somnus says, ruffling Prompto’s hair relentlessly and leaving it sticking up all over.

He dances away before Prompto can retaliate— damn, he’s fast for a pampered prince— and laughs all the while.

Prompto tosses his art things to the ground and chases after him, laughing. 

“Som!” he yells, and launches himself after the prince, tackling him into the grass. “Gotcha!”

Somnus hits the ground with an undignified  _ Oof! _ He grapples with Prompto, his eyes all scrunched up and mouth wide in a grin. He’s a less seasoned fighter and it shows — even with the weight that he has on Prompto, he’s powerless against him.

“Help!” he calls, with a laugh. “I’m being mauled by a savage!”

“Who are you calling a savage?” Prompto hollers. Somnus is stronger and bigger than him, but Prompto’s been trained by Cor Leonis. With a bit of skilful manoeuvring, he pins Somnus underneath him and grins down at him.

“I win,” he says with a cheeky smile. “Do I get a prize?”

A look comes over Somnus’ face and he goes still, no longer fighting. He’s uncharacteristically serious as he tests at Prompto’s hold on his wrist.

He looks at Prompto soberly for a long moment before a wry smile twinges at the corner of his lips.

“Why don’t you let me go and I’ll show you?”

Prompto blushes, and slowly untangles himself from Somnus. There’s a strange sense of anticipation curling in his gut, and he doesn’t know what Somnus means— doesn’t want to jump to conclusions— but his heart is hammering in his chest.

Somnus gets to his feet, and stretches out a hand to help Prompto up. Once he’s upright, there’s a moment where so much  _ possibility _ seems to crackle in the air, like static.

Somnus steps forward. With his eyes fixed on Prompto’s, and that same not-quite-smile on his lips, he slips his arm around Prompto’s waist.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

Prompto obeys.

With a yank, he feels himself pulled upwards. It’s like his stomach has just dropped straight out of his body, and his skin tingles with the feeling of tiny, broken fragments of something, like Somnus has just dumped a sack of rice all over him. 

Prompto opens his eyes to make sure Somnus hasn’t done that, and immediately turns very green.

“Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh, we’re up a tree. How did we get here?” Prompto clings to Somnus, dizzy and disoriented. “We— we were just on the ground!”

Somnus looks very proud of himself. There’s a dagger in his hand, small and ornate, and Prompto realises with a lurch that the only thing keep them from plummeting to the ground — and hitting every branch along the way — is Somnus’s hand gripping onto the hilt of it, where it’s embedded in the trunk of the tree.

With utmost care, Somnus stretches his foot out toward the nearest branch and uses it for balance, nodding his head for Prompto to climb over to it.

“You like it?” he says. “I just figured out how to do it the other day. It seems the Crystal has some tricks up its sleeve.”

_ Astrals. _ Prompto is the second person in history to warp.  

“It’s  _ mind-blowing, _ is what it is,” Prompto says. He wants to bury his face in Somnus’ robes and just cling to him in terror, but even worse than moving is the idea that Somnus might get  _ tired, _ and then they’ll fall, and break every bone in their body…

It takes every ounce of Prompto’s courage to climb over to the branch. He grabs onto everything— the tree, Somnus’ body— as though they’re lifelines, but eventually he makes it.

“Yeah! We’re alive!” he shouts. “This is so cool!”

“You gave me the idea,” Somnus admits.

Painstakingly, he climbs to the branch and settles down to sit on it with his legs dangling down as though he’s not in a position to drop and literally  _ die _ if he slips.

“I… couldn’t move, when that daemon attacked us,” he says quietly, playing with the fabric of his robes. “But the way you sprang into action with that crossbow, without even  _ thinking…” _

Prompto’s hand goes to find Somnus’ without thinking. “I just wanted to protect you,” he says softly. “I can’t lose you.”

He ducks his head, not wanting to see Somnus’ expression at his words. “But I’m glad you figured this out! This is gonna be amazing— when you master this, no one would know what hit them.”

Somnus’ fingers thread through Prompto’s. He squeezes gently, and knocks his shoulder gently against Prompto.

“I want to be able to protect you, too.”

Prompto doesn’t know how to handle this. Somnus’ voice is almost painful in its sincerity, and remembering how he’d rejected him hurts just as deeply. He squeezes Somnus’ hand back.

“I’d like that,” he murmurs.

For a little while they sit there like that, in a heavy silence. Somnus’ hand never loosens its hold on Prompto’s, and before long he’s rubbing his thumb idly over the back of Prompto’s hand, like he’s lost in a daydream.

He makes a beautiful sight.

“What are you thinking about?” Prompto asks quietly.

Somnus draws in a breath and exhales slowly. 

“You’ve done so much since coming here,” he says. “All of your work at the temple. It’s like you brought a whirlwind with you, but everything’s been changing for the better.”

He looks at Prompto, his eyes shining.

“Even Ardyn — he smiles now.  _ All the time. _ He keeps telling me about the things you’ve done together at the temple, or little suggestions you’ve made on how to improve things. You make me want to be like that, Prompto. I want to be better. Like you.”

Prompto blushes at the praise, but he can’t help the warmth of the pride that fills him. Not for himself, but for this ridiculous, incredible man beside him.

“I believe in you,” he says, making sure he keeps Somnus’ gaze. “I don’t know about me being any good— I’m just happy to help. But you... you can do anything, Somnus. You are fair, and kind, and— and you care about people so much.”

He grips Somnus’ hand tighter. “You deserve the opportunity to show how great you are.”

Pride blooms in Somnus’ eyes— but he seems shy somehow as he glances away, his cheeks heating.

“You make me feel like I can do anything,” he says.

“Because you can,” Prompto says with conviction. 

He thinks about Lucis, and the home he left behind. Before the darkness, before the daemons, when it was just four friends in a car with the whole world before them. He thinks about sprawling cities and dense forests and the wide expanse of land and glittering sea, and the people that made life there worth living. 

“What you build here will be beautiful,” Prompto whispers to him, like a secret. “And your work known by all the generations after. I know it, Som.”

Somnus’ glance meets Prompto’s. He wets his lips and lifts his hand to touch Prompto’s cheek.

“You’re sweet,” he says. “Kind and thoughtful. I’m lucky to have you.”

Prompto laughs, flustered. He isn’t sure what to say to that.

He’s saved from having to answer by the barking of a dog, and he nearly falls out of the tree in his excitement.

“You have a dog! Som, Som, get us down, I want to see the dog,” Prompto pleads, hoping Somnus would cave to— hah— puppy dog eyes.

“We  _ don’t _ have a dog,” Somnus protests.

Still, he looks down, apparently peering at the ground in search of the mystery canine. His eyes light up in surprise— he looks just as excited as Prompto feels.

Next thing, he’s slinging his arm around Prompto’s waist again and tossing his dagger, embedding it in the ground.

With the same unnerving sensation as before, they reappear below— and Somnus clambours to his feet, taking off at a run.

“Umbra!” he calls, as the dog bolts towards him.

_ Umbra? _

“Ugh,” Prompto says, both at the sick feeling from warping and at the realisation that of course, magical dogs would be immortal too.

Then he realises exactly who Umbra belongs to, and he’s racing to join Somnus before he can stop to think about it.

For a magical dog, Umbra sure seems happy to see Somnus; he gladly accepts the boisterous cuddles that the prince gives him, his head cocking happily to the side and tongue lolling out as though he were any ordinary pup.

“Good to see you, boy,” Somnus says, hugging one arm around Umbra as his other reaches for the rope secured around him. “Let’s see what Lady Aera has to say.

_ “Your Highness,” _ he reads.  _ “I hope this letter finds you well. It has been far too long…” _

He trails off into an inaudible murmur as he reads, only to stop suddenly, his hand freezing where he rubs it through Umbra’s fur.

“Oh,” he says. “It’s… It’s for you?”

“Me?” Prompto squawks in surprise. “Can’t be, she doesn’t even know me.” He looks over Somnus’ shoulder— though not before giving Umbra a pet. “What does it say?”

_ “As eager as I am to catch up, I have a favour to ask. If you would pass the contents of this letter on to the sweet young man in your company— the one with fair hair and a sea of freckles— I would be most grateful. I have a matter to discuss with him.” _

Somnus lifts the letter for Prompto to see.

“I don’t know of anyone else meeting that description,” he says. He seems just as perplexed as Prompto is.

Prompto peers at the letter. It looks like a jumble of beautiful squiggles. His face heats up.

“I, uh. I don’t know what it says,” Prompto admits in a tiny voice. “Can you read it to me?”

Somnus gives him a look, but he doesn’t comment, thankfully. Clearing his throat, he begins to read.

_ “Dear stranger,” _ he recites.  _ “I hope this letter finds you happy and well. Allow me to welcome you to this place, although I am sure that Ardyn and Somnus are taking good care of you already.” _

He looks at Prompto with a grin and nudges his arm.

_ “Perhaps I should introduce myself first. I am Aera, and I am the Oracle. The Astrals have blessed me with a vision of your coming to Lucis, although I must admit that…” _

Somnus trails off here, his eyes narrowing as he reads the next words. When he picks up, he’s a little halting.

_ “...that I have only seen fragments of your true purpose here. From what I have seen, you have a truly noble cause and a good heart, of which we need more and more in these troubling times. I am afraid I must ask a favour of you: that you look after Ardyn and Somnus and guide them with your wisdom and compassion, not only for their sakes but for the sake of the infant kingdom of Lucis. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “This must all be very strange for you, but if you need a friend to confide in, you will always find me here.”

Somnus blinks down at the paper in front of him awhile. He rolls it up carefully and hands it to Prompto, as though even though he can’t read it, he knows it’s better kept in Prompto's hands.

Prompto doesn’t know what to say. He looks at the letter in his hands, then back up at Somnus. 

“That was, um. Unexpected,” Prompto says.

“Your ‘ _ true purpose’?” _ Somnus says. “What was that about?”

“I’m... honestly not sure.” Prompto goes quiet, his heart pounding. He knows he probably has better things to worry about. The  _ Astrals themselves _ sent the Oracle a vision of his coming, and he really  _ does _ have a purpose here, and it’s all so much bigger than he thought.

But the only thing he’s worried about right now is Somnus. He has no idea what Somnus thinks about him now— if he thinks their friendship is a fraud, or that Prompto’s some kind of bad omen. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

Somnus looks down at Umbra, and for a little while he rubs behind the dog’s ears in silence, his eyes a thousand miles away. He seems stiff, and farther away than he’s ever felt to Prompto, like the Oracle’s words have driven a wedge between them.

“So you…”

He looks up hesitantly, not quite meeting Prompto’s eye.

“You were  _ sent _ here?”

Prompto sighs, and reaches out for Somnus’ hand. He stops there, hovering above it uncertainly. “I think so,” he says. “I mean, I must have been. I didn’t get a message or anything like that... but the last thing I remember before I ended up in these gardens was Pryna.”

He drops his hand, too afraid of Somnus’ reaction. “I didn’t come here intentionally, Som. Maybe I do have some kind of purpose that I don’t know about. But everything I’ve done here, everything we’ve talked about, it’s real to me. I’m not... I’m not a fake.”

“Fake,” Somnus says flatly.

He laughs, but his voice sounds strange and humourless. His glance turns down to Umbra, who stretches up and nuzzles his cheek as if to comfort him.

“You’re not a fake, Prompto,” Somnus says. “You have a divine calling. Sent by the Astrals for some mission beyond the comprehension of a mere mortal like me.”

“And me!” Prompto can’t keep the desperation out of his voice. His throat is tight, like he’s going to cry. “Somnus, please. I don’t really know what’s going on either.”

“You don’t need to explain,” Somnus says, with a shrug that’s so hopeless Prompto feels something break inside him. 

He pushes himself to his feet, so very cold and distant, every bit the aloof prince he was when they first met.

“I thought it was chance that brought you here,” he says. “To me. I understand it now — the gods have their plans.”

Prompto’s cheeks are wet, and his voice cracks. “Do you want me to leave?”

Somnus gives a cool laugh.

“Far be it from me to interfere with the grand machinations of the Astrals!” he says. “You’ve already made yourself so very much at home.”

He gives a sweeping bow, and it’s like he’s somebody completely different than the man who teased and kidded around with Prompto just a few minutes ago.

“Good day, Prompto. I won’t keep you from your  _ noble cause.” _

Prompto gets up and stares at Somnus, and his chest  _ hurts _ at the coldness he finds. 

He can’t stay here. Not living off the generosity of a man who can’t stand the sight of him.

Stiffly, he bows, hand over his heart like the loyal Crownsguard he still is. But this is not his kingdom, and Somnus is not his prince— he may have a responsibility here, but would do well to remember that. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so painful.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve always cared about you,” he says. “Thank you for everything, Your Highness.”

He turns and runs off before Somnus can say a word.

He doesn’t stop by his room; he doesn’t have many things, only clothes that Somnus had given him, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of being stopped. Instead, he runs straight out of the palace, runs and runs and runs through the maze-like cobbled streets until he gets to the doors of the Temple of Bahamut.

It is open at all hours, to anyone in need, so no one stops Prompto as he rushes to the small office where he knows he’ll find the abbess.

“I need a place to stay,” he spills out, before she can say anything. His breath is coming in harsh pants, from exhaustion and the effort to not break down in the middle of the temple. “Please. I don’t— I don’t have anywhere to go.”


	10. Chapter 10

It seems to Ardyn that over the course the course of a day or so, everything has changed.

The rhythm at the palace has been thoroughly disrupted — not least by Prompto’s unexpected absence, but also by Somnus’s prolonged and colourful tantrum. Ardyn hasn’t seen him so worked up in years. Perhaps not ever.

He knows better than to ask his brother what’s wrong, but neither has he turned to Prompto to get to the root of things. Such a change has come over the young man that he seems to be a different person entirely; to see him so utterly subdued is… unpleasant, and troubling.

Ardyn tries his best to help Prompto in the only way he knows how — to help him dive into his work at the temple. Charity has been such a source of solace for Ardyn over the years; he has no doubt that it may yet heal whatever ails Prompto’s spirit.

Still, he worries. It’s been almost a week since Prompto’s departure from the palace, and Somnus still haunts the halls, glowering and thundering about everywhere he goes.

“Prompto,” Ardyn says gently. “Would you bring me some clean gauze? I’ve run out.”

Prompto hands him a roll, efficient and silent. He offers a smile only to the patient he’s tending, but not much more.

Ardyn knows it will be a matter of drawing him out. True, Prompto still works just as diligently as ever — but he seems soulless, as though his heart isn’t quite in it.

The question, now, is how to encourage him to open up…

He dwells on it while he works. He knows that to ask Prompto outright would probably only provoke a wan, unconvincing smile and reassurances that everything was fine. Ardyn may not have known Prompto for very long, but they’ve worked closely together for quite some time.

It’s while taking a break to eat that it comes to him. Prompto barely picks at his food; Ardyn has no doubt that he won’t mind a brief excursion.

He sets his food aside and moves quietly to Prompto’s side, touching a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“I thought I might make some rounds in the city while there’s still light,” he says. “It would help me greatly if you’d come along to assist.”

To his credit, Prompto attempts to muster the enthusiasm. He smiles at Ardyn, and though it’s bright, it’s not entirely sincere. His mind seems far away. “That’s a good idea.”

“Come along, then,” Ardyn says warmly.

They bring food with them — fresh-baked bread from the temple’s ovens, and salted meats to see them through the coming days. It’s scarcely enough to keep the city’s impoverished going, of course, but the temple doors are always open to those in need.

Ardyn tends to patients new and old with Prompto’s assistance, and he listens to the plight of the people as he goes: there’s a damaged drain that has been overflowing in the rains a few streets over that the crown-appointed council has yet to attend to; an old woman speaks of her granddaughter, who’s been missing for some days, and the city guard have yet to conduct a search.

It’s unsettling to hear of how Inlustris is being governed under Ardyn’s rule. Would that he were here more often, to keep the administrators of his laws in line — but to do so would prevent him from his pilgrimages to heal the people, where they need him most.

It’s a dilemma he’s often thought on, long and hard, and he’s no closer to a solution.

“Just one house left,” Ardyn says, as he leads Prompto through the streets. It’s been a long day, and he’s grown weary; it’s difficult to hide the limp that dogs him, from an old injury that never fully healed.

A hand touches his elbow tentatively. “Are you okay? It looks like you might be having trouble,” Prompto says softly. 

Then he laughs, and it’s almost real. “You know, if you leaned on my shoulder, I’d probably be about the right height to be a good walking stick.”

Being king has invited so much scrutiny upon Ardyn, upon his family; he knows there are those who believe they would be better suited to the throne than a man with a poorly-healed leg, who ails from too much healing.

It would be so easy to shrug off Prompto’s touch — but what makes Prompto such a gifted healer is his compassion: his empathy. Of everyone Ardyn has known in all his years, he numbers Prompto among those he trusts.

“That would be quite a sight,” Ardyn says, with a candid smile. “Perhaps I might use your arm for support, if you don’t mind.”

Prompto offers his arm without hesitation. “I’m here as long as you need,” he says.

Ardyn leans only as much of his weight on Prompto as is necessary. He’s not  _ averse _ to the idea of needing help; it’s simply that he’s made do for so long.

“Thank you, Prompto,” he says. His voice cracks ever so slightly with gratitude.

The house they’re venturing to now is a small one, squirrelled away down a tiny by-street overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the home is weather-worn, but clearly loved: a basket of wildflowers, freshly picked, hangs by the front door.

Ardyn slips his arm free of Prompto’s and moves for the door. He walks with a straighter back now, all signs of his injury largely invisible, unless you knew to look.

Lifting a hand, he knocks. It isn’t long before the door opens and a young girl appears — the same girl Ardyn showed Prompto on his first day at the temple. Her colour has returned, all trace of the Scourge gone from her.

“Pomto!” she says, rushing out to fling her arms around him. 

Prompto stumbles back from the force of the hug, and the world lights up when he laughs. 

“Hey, kiddo! Oh my gosh, look at you!” He lifts her up and spins her in a circle. When he sets her down, he kneels to her level and pinches her cheek. “How’ve you been feeling? You’re looking a lot better!”

Ardyn feels a tug of something at the sight of Prompto smiling so broadly. Even a few days without his cheerful demeanour is enough to fill a lifetime.

“I’m great,” she says proudly, positively beaming.

She reaches out for Prompto’s hand and grabs it, tugging him inside. Ardyn can only laugh as Prompto is pulled along, powerless to resist.

It’s just the girl, her older brother, and their mother; when the woman sees who has arrived she instantly drops to her knees in a bow, but Ardyn takes her elbow and nudges her to stand.

“I thought Prompto might like to see how Amaya was doing,” Ardyn says. “He did a great deal to help with her convalescence.”

“Thank you,” the woman says, breathlessly. She totters forward and takes both of Prompto’s hands in her own. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Oh, um.” Prompto is bright red and shy, unused to this sort of praise. “It was my pleasure, really. Besides, Ardyn did the real healing.”

They stay for tea brewed from herbs from the local hills; Amaya regales them with all the adventures she’s been up to since returning home from the temple.

Even for Ardyn, it’s something close to a miracle to see the girl recovered to her youthful exuberance — and then some — after turning up at the temple so frightfully pale and weak.

It seems, too, that Prompto finds it in himself to be cheerful for the time they’re in the company of their hosts, in their humble home. Ardyn fears that it will be short-lived, but he’s grateful for it, as long as it lasts.

Darkness has fallen in the time since they’ve been indoors; it takes quite a bit of blinking for Ardyn’s eyes to adjust after the lamplight.

“If you ever fear that you don’t do enough,” Ardyn says, “never forget the gratitude these people have, even for the small things. You made a huge difference in that little girl’s life.”

“Thanks, Ardyn.” Prompto offers his arm again as they walk. “I guess I needed that more than I thought. Not their gratitude, I mean, just... knowing that everything turned out alright.”

“Of course,” Ardyn says, linking his arm through Prompto’s. “For all the ones we can’t save, it’s reassuring to see the ones who go on to flourish.”

He sighs. Today really did take it out of him; he’ll be paying for it tomorrow. Perhaps a long, hot bath drawn before bed might help…

“I apologise if I’m intruding,” Ardyn says gently. “I can’t help noticing that you seem uncharacteristically subdued of late.”

“Oh, haha, just a bit of a weird mood I guess.” Prompto waves the question away at first, as Ardyn had suspected he might.

But the way he worries at his lip makes it seem as though he has more he wants to say. After a moment of walking silently, arm in arm down the street, Prompto speaks again.

“I had an argument with Somnus,” he says. “And... I want to tell you what it was about. I don’t know if I can tell you the whole truth yet, but you of all people deserve to know.”

He tugs at Ardyn’s arm until he looks down to meet his eyes. “At my room in the temple, or — wherever we won’t be overheard.”

Of course. Prompto could be the only explanation for Somnus’s foul mood. There seem to be more pressing matters at hand, however, so Ardyn quickly nods his head and turns for the temple.

It’s a long and tiring walk, particularly after the day they’ve endured; the closer Ardyn gets, the more he has to pretend he doesn’t hurt. He scarcely even notices the pain, though, when Prompto’s words have set his mind down such a tumultuous path of curiosity. Whatever it is that Prompto has to say, he’s so serious that Ardyn knows it must be important.

At last the temple comes into view, and Ardyn feels as though he’s knees could give way in relief. He grits his teeth, however, and pushes onwards.

Prompto guides him to his new accommodation in the temple— it’s a simple, almost barren cell, the kind with which Ardyn is intimately familiar after his years spent training here. With a sigh of relief, Ardyn sits on the hard bed, while Prompto bustles around him.

“Okay, gimme a sec,” he says, and disappears out of the cell. When he returns, kicking the door shut behind him. he is clutching two bowls of hot water with a bundle of cloths draped over his shoulder.

“First things first,” he says. “Warm compresses and something for your feet, they must be aching. Get those sandals off.”

It’s difficult not to remain rigid, now that Ardyn’s weight is off his feet. He tries to become pliable, leaning his weight onto his right side as he edges forward and slips off his sandals.

He doesn’t  _ want _ to be fussed over, but something about Prompto seems to excel in looking after others. Ardyn feels…  _ safe, _ in his company.

“What did you need to speak about?” he asks, mostly to keep his mind off himself. The discomfort of the day — of compensating for his injury — has been subsumed by pain. Even sitting, preferable as it is, sends period flares through his hip.

Prompto soaks a couple of the cloths in the smaller bowl, and touches Ardyn’s robe above the knee. “May I?”

Ardyn sighs. Prompto will speak when he’s ready.

Leaning back slightly on the roughspun blanket of the bed, he gives a nod.

Carefully, Prompto pulls the robe aside, settling it just on Ardyn’s thighs to expose his knees. He takes the cloths from the bowl, squeezes out the excess water, and gently presses them against Ardyn’s aching knees.

Still, he doesn’t speak. With the same carefulness, he takes one of Ardyn’s calves and the larger bowl of warm water, and starts to wash his feet.

There’s something so deeply intimate about this, that it makes Ardyn’s skin prickle — and not unpleasantly. It reminds him of long, feverish nights as a child, when his mother had cared for him with a cool cloth on his forehead and soft words at his ear.

He watches, rapt, as Prompto works. He’s seen the young man do this sort of thing countless times before, seen him tend to those in their many states of agony with a warm smile and a gentle touch. To be the object of it is another thing entirely; it sends a shiver winding up Ardyn’s spine.

“A letter arrived from the Oracle, for Somnus. Well,” Prompto’s touch stills on the arch of Ardyn’s foot. “It was for me, actually.”

Ardyn perks up with interest, an eyebrow raising. It’s common enough for the Oracle to communicate with him — or even Somnus, on occasion, as easy as his younger brother is to hear from her. Ardyn hadn’t even known that the Lady was aware of Prompto’s presence in Inlustris.

“Ah,” Ardyn says. “That’s… curious.”

“I think you’d better read it.” Prompto dries off Ardyn’s feet with one cloth, and his own hands with another. Then he gets up and reaches underneath his thin pillow to draw out a piece of parchment and hand it to him. “I can’t, anyway.”

Ardyn recognises Lady Aera’s flowery handwriting as he opens the parchment. The mere sight of it makes his heart leap with pleasure in anticipation of her candid words. He’s pensive, however, as he pores over the letter’s contents.

_ I have only seen fragments of your true purpose here. _

Ardyn reads over the letter once more before rolling it carefully, still holding it in his grasp. He’s not quite sure what to make of it — although the Oracle’s words certainly explain a few things.

“When we first met,” Ardyn says, calmly. “You seemed as though you knew me, and at once as though you didn’t. You seemed… alarmed.”

Prompto smiles wryly. “You’re going to have to promise to believe me when I tell you.”

Ardyn’s lips curl in spite of himself. He’s seen impossible things in his years; performed miracles with his own hands. He’s more than a little curious to see what Prompto has to say.

“I can certainly try,” he says.”

Prompto takes a deep breath. “So when I accused you of being a time-traveller... that’s because I am one. I was sent back in time by Pryna, one of the Oracle’s messengers in my timeline, and you... I mean, I don’t know why I’m here, but I have an idea.”

Ardyn says nothing for quite some time as Prompto’s words sink in. He could easily dismiss it all as a joke — perhaps the result of some pressure that Prompto has been under, manifest as delusions. These don’t seem like the words of someone unwell, however, and given the feats he’s seen performed by the Oracle herself, by the canine companions she keeps as messengers to the gods, he can’t claim that it’s out of the realm of possibility.

“The Oracle  _ I _ know travels with a Pryna, as well,” Ardyn remarks. “If what you say is true, they must be one and the same.”

Carefully, as though it were the most precious of treasures, Ardyn sets Lady Aera’s letter aside. He looks up at Prompto and holds his glance.

“The Astrals sent you. That much is obvious. And you have some notion as to why?”

Prompto swallows audibly and nods. “The future isn’t good. Like, really, really bad. And I think maybe I’ve been sent here to change something, so it doesn’t end up a mess.”

He takes another deep breath and looks out of his small window. “Before I came to Inlustris, I hadn’t seen the sun in about a year,” he murmurs. “The days kept getting shorter until one day, the sun never came up. The Scourge has infected everything, and the daemons roam free. All the survivors are packed into overcrowded cities, and there’s not enough space, or food, for everyone. And every day — or what passed for a day — I would go out and find more survivors to bring back, even when people would tell me we already had enough on our plates.”

His face is lit only by a sliver of moonlight, but Ardyn can see the haunted expression clearly.

The more Prompto speaks, the more heavily his burden seems to weigh upon his shoulders. He speaks so evocatively that Ardyn can feel it — the press of panicked, frenzied bodies, waiting for the next attack; waiting for the day when the city’s walls aren’t enough to keep the tide at bay.

This is not the future he dreams of, when he ventures out into the world to cleanse the people of the Scourge; this sounds like hell.

“Then our efforts will fail,” he says, his voice hushed. “It will all be for nought.”

Prompto closes his eyes. “Lucis was beautiful,” he says. “It was so full of life. For a most of my life, I had no idea about daemons or the Scourge or anything like that. We were at war, and at first, that was the worst thing that we could imagine. But the Astrals had plans, and... in the end, it didn’t really matter whose side anyone was on. The daemons don’t care. That— that is what I’m trying to fix.”

“Who were you at war with?” Ardyn asks, as a chill feeling of foreboding washes over him.

“Niflheim,” Prompto says. “I think it’s called the Land of the Mist here. They were doing experiments with the Scourge, using their own citizens. Or... or clones.”

He walks back to Ardyn and puts a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t let this happen. I don’t know how, but we can’t.”

_ Experiments. Clones. _ It all makes Ardyn feel rather ill.

“The ones who came before us,” Ardyn says. “In their tongue, they called their land  _ Solheim. _ They worshipped the Infernian, Ifrit.”

He glances up, his eyes studying Prompto’s. How strange that the Astrals should have chosen this young man to be the bearer of such an important calling.

“Legend has it that they were overrun by foul machinations of their own making,” he says, “fuelled by the Scourge. It sounds as though history is doomed to repeat itself.”

He sighs. All at once he’s so exhausted; perhaps the day’s finally catching up to him.

“You’re right. We must do something to stop this.”

“Ardyn.”  Prompto kneels again, so he’s gazing up at him. “I need to know something. How exactly are you healing the Scourge?”

The room seems that much colder, the moonlight that much more stark. Where Prompto kneels before him, Ardyn wants so badly to look away, but he forces himself to hold Prompto’s glance. Forces himself to look into those earnest blue eyes as he gives his answer.

“I don’t heal it,” he answers softly.

He can feel it even now, simmering beneath the surface — rippling and roiling through his veins like molten steel.

“I’m not like the Oracle. When she heals it, she purges it. I…”

Prompto’s eyes widen. He takes one of Ardyn’s hands, tracing a vein on the back of it. “You take it into yourself don’t you?” he whispers.

Instinctively, Ardyn tries to flinch away from Prompto’s touch. But something else — something deeper within him shivers at the feel of Prompto’s skin against him own, and he stays there, as though entranced.

He looks down at their hands, Prompto’s pale, soft skin in contrast with his own rough, calloused fingers.

“I do,” he says.

Prompto makes an odd noise, like a slow, terrified sigh. His hands tighten around Ardyn’s own, hard enough that the skin around his fingers goes white. “Ardyn,” he says, soft but urgent. “Ardyn, you have to stop. You can’t keep doing this.”

Ardyn closes his eyes. Would that it were so simple.

“I can’t stop,” he says. “You’ve seen what it’s like. The people  _ need _ me.”

Prompto’s grip loosens. “I know,” he whispers. “No one deserves the Scourge. Not even you.”

_ Not even you. _

Dread gnaws at the pit of Ardyn’s stomach. All of this — all of what Prompto’s saying…

“Where you come from,” Ardyn says slowly, “you spoke of darkness. Of daemons roaming free. What happened to the Oracle? To the Lucian bloodline? To  _ my _ bloodline?”

Prompto looks up at him and bites his lip in thought. He looks afraid, in a way Ardyn hasn’t seen him since their first meeting. 

“Are you really ready to learn the truth?” he asks quietly.

Ardyn’s heart is a heavy drum against his ribs.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little interlude to see Somnus's side of things!

Aera sweeps through the familiar halls of the Lucian palace, Umbra and Pryna at her heels. She’s been here often enough that she doesn’t need to be shown her way by a servant; normally, she would visit Ardyn’s apartments, but she knows he is spending more and more time in the temples and streets. She would have better luck with Somnus.

She opens the door to the throne room just as the supplicant inside is leaving; he gasps at the sight of her and hurriedly bows.

“No need for all that, I’m just visiting an old friend,” she says kindly, and looks up to Somnus on the throne with a wide smile. “Think you can clear your schedule for little old me?”

One moment Somnus is slouched on the throne, his chin nestled in the palm of his hand; the next he’s upright, springing to his feet.

“Lady Aera,” he says. He bows hastily, dipping low; she can see the way his cheeks flush.

Aera makes her way towards him, still smiling. “Honestly, no need to bother. One would think we weren’t friends.” She claps his shoulder with one hand.

Somnus’ cheeks still burn pink even as he straightens up.

“Apologies, my lady,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I was visiting a village close to here, and I thought I would come see how my favourite royals were doing,” Aera says. “And meet this mysterious visitor of yours. I’m dying of curiosity.”

It’s impossible to miss the sourness that comes across the prince’s face. As one of his attendants steps forward, he flicks a hand dismissively in their direction.

“You’re a bit late, I’m afraid,” he says shortly. “I haven’t seen him in days.”

“Days?” Aera frowns. “But I assumed he would have nowhere else to go.”

“Try Ardyn. My brother seems to have taken a shine to him.”

With a dramatic flourish, Somnus pulls away and stalks down the steps from the throne.

“Prince Somnus,” Aera says sharply.

Somnus’ shoulders dip, like a dog being scolded. When he turns to face Aera, he’s apologetic.

“I’m sorry, my lady. We had a… falling out.”

Aera reaches out and puts her hands on his arms, hoping to give some form of comfort. “Would you tell me about it?” she asks gently. “Perhaps somewhere with more privacy?”

Somnus dips his head.

“Of course,” he says. “Please come with me.”

He leads her, almost dreamlike, through the palace; when he gets to the great doors that Aera recalls lead to the gardens he stops suddenly, as if only then awakening. With a shake of his head, he carries onward, and leads her instead to an empty guest room nearby.

“So, what has been going on?” she asks, taking a seat on a nearby chair. Umbra and Pryna curl up at her feet. “Are you well?”

“It was the letter you sent,” Somnus says, seriously. He doesn’t take a seat, instead leaning against the wall by the door. “The things you said… about why he came here. Were they true? Did you really have visions about him?”

Aera sighs. She has known Somnus long enough that she should have realised this might cause some resentment. “Yes. Pryna showed me some things... it’s hard to make sense of, but all I really know is that he was sent here to prevent something terrible from happening.”

Somnus lifts his hand to inspect his nails, as though he cares so little about it all. It’s obvious that that’s entirely untrue.

“I thought he was different,” he says quietly. “Finally, someone who didn’t care about prophecies or chosen kings.”

“Just because someone cares about that does not mean they can’t also care about  _ you,” _ Aera says. “I do not know him at all, so I can’t really say. But from the little I have seen, he is just a young man who has lost many things and sincerely wants to protect the little he has. I am sorry my letter caused such pain, but perhaps it’s a misunderstanding.”

Somnus pouts. If Aera knows him at all, this is a grudge he’s likely to stubbornly hold onto, if only for the sake of his own ego.

“I’m tired of it,” he huffs. “The Astrals, all of it. If they have their threads to weave, fine— but I won’t be a part of it.”

“So you’ll just cast him aside?” Aera gives a deep sigh. “I suppose it’s not really my place to interfere... although I am concerned. I do hope you haven’t made him a homeless vagrant.”

“He left of his own free will,” Somnus says shortly.

He folds his arms across his front and glares down at the ground, tapping his boot off the floor.

“He’s probably at the Temple of Bahamut,” he mutters. “He’s been spending all of his time there.”

“A healer, or being healed?” Aera wonders. “Would you like him to come back?”

Somnus stands in sullen silence for such a long while that the resemblance to a spoilt child is remarkable. Finally, he looks up at Aera, and meets her eye.

“Can I be honest with you about something? Please try not to take it the wrong way.”

“There is nothing more terrifying than the words you’ve just said, but yes, do go on.”

That, at least, rouses a reluctant smile from Somnus.

“I really liked him,” he says. “I… I still  _ do, _ damn it all. You know I care about you, and about Ardyn, but sometimes it’s so easy to feel like…”

He cuts off with a sigh and pushes his hand through his hair.

“I’m ordinary next to you both. And I felt that finally, in Prompto’s eyes, I was special.”

“Oh, Somnus.” Aera stands up and strides over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve had to feel this way. I hope you know that you are special in our eyes— Ardyn in particular thinks the world of you.”

She cups his cheek in one hand. “I hope you can make up with him,” she says sincerely. “The gods may have their plans, but all we want is for you to be happy.”

Somnus looks down guiltily.

“I miss him,” he murmurs. “What if he doesn’t want to make up with me?”

“Then that’s his loss,” Aera says firmly.

Heaving a sigh, Somnus covers Aera’s hand where it touches his cheek.

“Thank you, my lady,” he says. “You always seem to make things easier with your presence.”

“That’s my job! You and your brother are both so dramatic,” she says cheerfully. “Now, enough talk. Let’s go find this boy of yours!”

He presses his lips together tightly, as though weighing it up.

“It’s late, Lady Aera. Perhaps, in the morning…”

“What, so you can come up with another excuse overnight? I think not,” Aera says. She loops her arm through Somnus’ and pulls him towards the door. “Inlustris is perfectly safe at night. Let’s go and get this over with.”

The temple isn’t too far from the palace, but it’s enough that Aera is somewhat out of breath when they arrive at the gates. The various narrow alleys and uphill climbs absolutely did not help matters. She turns to Somnus to give him a piece of her mind about proper urban planning, when she catches sight of a familiar figure exiting the gate.

“Ardyn!” she calls out.

He seems intent on scurrying away without interruption— in fact, he doesn’t stop at the sound of her voice for quite a few steps, until he double-takes and trudges to a halt.

“Lady Aera,” he says, dipping his head. These Lucis Caelum boys and their formalities. “I was not expecting you.”

He seems agitated; sickly, perhaps. His eyes dart toward the gates of the temple.

“Are you quite alright?” She reaches out for him.

“Yes,” he blurts, in a voice that would seem to belie the word; he recoils from her touch, as though burned.

“Somnus,” he says, as though he only noticing his brother’s presence. “Ah.”

“You seem unwell, Brother,” Somnus says.

When he steps forward, Ardyn totters two steps back.

“I must go,” Ardyn says, ducking his head apologetically. “Forgive me.”

Aera lets him leave, her hand still hanging limply in the air after him.

“Well.” She looks at Somnus, puzzled. “That was strange. What on Eos has gotten into him?”

“I don’t know,” Somnus says.

He seems just as perplexed at his brother’s behaviour.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Aera frowns, looking away towards the alley where Ardyn disappeared. It’s so unlike him to act in such a manner; the Ardyn she knows has always been calm, serious, self-sacrificing to the point that he would give the clothes off his back to anyone in need. That Ardyn had shied away from her and left so abruptly made her wonder if there was much more going on within Lucis than she had anticipated.

She wonders, suddenly, whether the arrival of the mysterious foreigner really was a response to the terrible events about to unfold— or indeed, the catalyst.

Somnus’ sigh rouses her from her thoughts. His arms are folded defensively again, kicking idly at the ground with the toe of his shoe.

“Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“I do not  _ have _ bad ideas,” Aera says. “Let’s go. Perhaps we will find your boy within.”

It seems, at last, that he doesn’t have it in him to protest. He follows behind her, like a chastened child, as she had known he would.

“I’m afraid I don’t know my way around very well,” he admits. “I don’t often have cause to come here…”

For all that she’s the Oracle, she isn’t familiar with the Lucian Temple of Bahamut either. All of them do have the same vague layout, so she picks a direction that looks promising and strides forward, feigning confidence.

“No matter,” she says. “Perhaps we’ll stumble across him as we did with Ardyn. If nothing else, we can ask the abbess.”

Somnus seems awkward and stilted as he walks through the temple. He keeps a close path behind Aera, conspicuously so, and chatters nervously as they go.

“You know, maybe we should find Ardyn instead,” he says. “He seemed very unwell.”

“He’ll live,” Aera says, although she can’t help the worry in the back of her mind. “I will speak with him once my business here is done. Your boy... what is his name?”

“Prompto,” he says, slipping into a more sombre tone. “His name is Prompto.”

Aera glances back at Somnus. Her heart aches at the look on his face, but she forces herself to look forward again. 

One of the great advantages of being the Oracle is that Aera is unaccustomed to being denied. When she finds a passing acolyte, he immediately points her towards Prompto’s cell without question, and she knocks on the door with three sharp taps.

“One minute,” a muffled voice says. 

Aera waits a minute.

Two minutes.

By the third, she opens the door herself; as suspected, none of them have locks. She’s faced with a tiny, bare room, and the stranger from her visions looking up at her with a face full of misery.

“Lady... Aera?” he asks uncertainly, and glances between her and Somnus. “Som!”

“Prompto,” Somnus says a little stiffly. He seems to be taking great pains to look anywhere but at the other young man, and Aera doesn’t think she’s ever seen him quite so uncomfortable in his own skin.

“I hope you’ve been… well.”

Prompto stands up, stumbling a little. Aera wonders if he is quite well at all, but she doesn’t reach for him as he passes by her to get to Somnus.

“As well as I can be.” His smile looks tired. “Are you doing okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Surely you’ve been too busy with your noble cause to spare a thought for me.”

The bitterness is a sour bite in Somnus’ tone; it would seem however, from the way his expression rapidly shifts, that he regrets lashing out.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “That was uncalled for.”

Prompto hunches in on himself, but keeps his shaky smile on. “It’s okay. I did miss you, though. I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again.”

The prince flicks a look towards Aera, as if to seek encouragement. He closes his eyes then, and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again he folds one arm across the front of his chest, fist closed, and dips his head in a bow.

“The way I treated you was unacceptable, Prompto. I hope that you can forgive me.”

He seems to hesitate for a moment, then wraps his arms fully around Somnus in a tight embrace, leaning his head against the prince’s chest.

The gesture has Somnus opening his eyes wide in surprise. Then, as if Aera weren’t even there, he slips his arms around Prompto in turn, sinking into his embrace.

It strikes Aera that his facade seems to crack a little, when it comes to Prompto. He looks almost vulnerable, and yet, somehow… stronger than she’s ever seen him.

They stay like that for a moment longer, before Prompto untangles himself from the embrace. He looks much happier than when they’d first walked into the cell, although Aera imagines a strangely distant, haunted look in his eyes. She wonders if that ever disappears.

“Oh dang, I’m being a pretty bad host! Uh, I’ve only got the one chair but you two can sit on the bed.” Prompto gestures towards the rickety bed frame and the thin mattress.

Aera takes the chair, and resists the urge to give Somnus a meaningful look.

“You’re no worse a host than I am a prince,” Somnus says.

Before he moves to sit, he gives a rather ceremonial bow.

“The Oracle of Tenebrae, Lady Aera Mirus Fleuret. My lady, this is Prompto Argentum.”

“A pleasure,” Aera says, as Prompto attempts to imitate Somnus. He gives a bow, fist over heart; it’s not a common greeting for the Oracle, but it’s Lucian through and through. 

“Glad I can finally meet you,” Prompto says genuinely. He tugs Somnus towards the bed and takes a seat. “What brings you here?”

“Well, you, actually.”

“Me?” Prompto looks shocked. 

“Yes, you. Do you think you can arrive in Lucis in such a strange manner, and not have anyone take notice?” Aera gives him a kind smile; she wonders if he’s a little slow. 

“I... I guess you’re right.” Prompto fidgets in place, and leans more towards Somnus. “You said you had seen me come.”

“Ah, yes. One of my Messengers showed me. Pryna!” she calls, and there’s an answering woof before Pryna slinks in through the slightly-open door, from where the dogs had been waiting outside.

“Pryna!” Prompto is on his knees with his arms around her dog in an instant. “Hey, girl!”

“The title of Oracle isn’t merely for show,” Somnus says, with a smile that finally reaches his eyes as he watches Prompto take so affectionately to Pryna. “I still hope that  _ someone _ can explain why the gods chose to send you here.”

“I sure hope so too!” Prompto pauses where he’s scratching Pryna’s fur. “I mean, I kind of have an idea, but if either of you know anything, that’d be awesome.”

Somnus lifts his hands in defeat.

“The Astrals haven’t deigned to gift me with visions, so it’s beyond me.”

“Pryna is the one who showed me the visions.” Aera tilts her head, watching the way Prompto interacts with her. “Something tells me you know her well.”

“Ah. Yeah, I do.” Prompto doesn’t look any of them in the eye. “She brought me to Inlustris. That’s how I ended up in the middle of the gardens.”

“Pryna brought you? That is... very interesting.”

“Pryna?” Somnus says. “She…  _ led _ you here?”

“No, she... I was somewhere totally different, she came up to me, and suddenly I was in your garden.” Prompto fidgets uncomfortably. “Like I said, I really don’t know how I got there, but I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding crazy. You can probably call off that security investigation.”

Somnus is conspicuously quiet. Even in a world where a Crystal gifted by the gods grants him the most wondrous gifts, there seem to still be some mysteries that are beyond him.

“Are you—”

He cuts himself off and shoots a look at Aera, then at Prompto, before dropping his voice to a whisper.

“Are you from another world?” 

“I don’t think so,” Prompto says slowly. “I’m... not actually from the Land of the Mist. I’m a Lucian, but a very different Lucis from what you have now.”

Something about that phrase strikes Aera as a little odd, but she can’t put her finger on it.

The room is so still that the sounds from the rest of the temple drift in — soft voices, faint footsteps passing by. Somnus is so tense he looks as though he might snap at any moment.

“Your clothes,” he says, his gaze trained somewhere around Prompto’s chest. “Your strange manner of speaking.”

It seems as though, slowly — so, painfully slowly — the pieces are beginning to fall into place.

“You asked who the king was, when we first met.”

Prompto nods, and Aera begins to put the pieces together.

“You’re from a different time,” she gasps. “Not a place as we assumed.”

Somnus is pale, and silent. As still as he is, however, his mind must be a flurry of thoughts.

“Did you come from the past?” he asks, so quietly. “Those who came before?”

Prompto shakes his head.

Aera feels vaguely ill.

“The future,” she whispers. “You’re... you’re here to stop the future from happening.”

“The Starscourge,” Somnus murmurs. “We don’t stop it, do we?”

“No.”

The haunted look is back in Prompto’s eyes— or perhaps, it’s never truly left.

“No, you don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're well aware y'all were left waiting on tenterhooks after last week's update, but we really wanted the continuation to be from Ardyn's POV. Rest assured, we'll get back to him next time, and we hope that finally getting to meet Aera (and seeing Somnus have some humility) makes up for the wait!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've both been so eager to finally get to this chapter. It was such a delight to write together, and we hope you enjoy!

The Crystal’s glow used to be such a source of comfort to Ardyn, in his darkest moments: proof of his gods’ divine intentions for him, made manifest. The blue light that emanates from it, that throbs like the pulse of some celestial heart, seems cold now.

He isn’t sure whether he should pray to it now, as he once did; to place a hand against it and feel the warmth of the stars. He’s afraid to touch it — afraid of what it might see within him.

He’d listened to Prompto’s words, at once repulsed and unable to move. So dearly he had wanted to claim that it was all a lie, all some awful improbability…

When he looks within himself, he knows it to be true. The blood that flows through his veins is heavy, leaden — ripe with the stench of ichor.

Bowing his head, he wonders what he ought to say. If he should pray for their guidance, though it’s been so long since he last heard the sweet word of the gods in his own ear. Lady Aera might know what to do, but he can’t bring himself to seek her out. She’s purity and light, all things good in the world, and he…

He is the darkness.

It seems a cruel fate: a terrible irony. He would have given his life a thousand times over for those of his subjects, and yet he’ll be the one to damn them to the terrible fate of which Prompto spoke.

_ Prompto. _

It’s a wonder the young man can bring himself to look him in the eye.

But Prompto had done more than that. He’d taken Ardyn in his arms, told him that he would do everything in his power to prevent that fate. Ardyn could feel the way Prompto had trembled in his embrace, could hear the terror and pain in his words — but Prompto had offered him comfort anyway.

Despite his darkness, Ardyn must have done something good to deserve one such as Prompto.

It had been too much. Too much, to see those compassionate blue eyes, turned on him with such kindness; too much, to feel the touch of Prompto’s hand on his accursed skin. He’d fled, leaving Prompto calling frantically after him.

_ You have to stop, _ Prompto had said, as though it were so simple. If Ardyn does not heal the people, it will only spread all the faster.

He’s not even sure if he could be cleansed if he  _ does _ stop.

He prostrates himself before the Crystal, the familiar words of the old prayers coming to his lips. He recites them under his breath, taking what little comfort in their message that he can.

He is so focused on his prayers that he does not notice the presence of another entering the room. It is only when they kneel beside him, their warmth only bare inches apart, that he becomes aware; but he does nothing to acknowledge it.

“Blessed stars of life and light,” the Lady Aera begins, in the soft words of the Tenebraen tradition.

She stays with him, praying together until Ardyn’s breathing slows, and his heart calms in his chest. He does not know how she knows when he is ready, but it is her calm voice that draws him out of his fervent prayers.

“Ardyn,” she says gently. “You seem unwell. Would you tell me what’s the matter?”

Would it be so simple, Ardyn wonders, to unburden himself? Would it bring him any more peace than his fruitless prayers?

Aera has always shown him such compassion, even in those rare moments where his faith was in doubt. There has never been such a dark time as this, however. How does he tell his betrothed that he will one day be the downfall of mankind?

He sits up, his eyes trained on the pulse of the Crystal, though unseeing. In his mind’s eye is burned the image of Prompto’s face as he began his tale.

“It is most joyous to see you again, my lady,” he says.

He draws in a breath, and fights the tremble that accompanies it. He’s so weary still from his day’s travels with Prompto. To remember how selflessly Prompto had helped him through his pain only brings a bitter taste to the back of his throat.

“You do not look particularly joyful,” she observes. “In fact, you  _ ran _ from me earlier. Have I truly grown so hideous?”

Ardyn sighs and looks at her — his betrothed — with sagging shoulders. He owes it to her to tell her the truth, but how?

“The most pustulant boils couldn’t stop the beauty of your inner light shining through, my lady,” Ardyn says, with a bow. “Apologies, Aera. I have… a great deal on my mind.”

“As do I. Pustulant boils being the most prominent in my thoughts.” She shudders., but then smiles at him encouragingly. “Tell me what burdens you.”

“I’m not certain you would believe me if I told you even half of it.”

He can feel the weight of Prompto’s words saddling his shoulders, dragging him down, making it hard to breathe.

“I wonder… if perhaps I’ve been too arrogant,” he says.

“Arrogant? You?” Aera raises an eyebrow. “My dear friend, in some ways you are  _ insufferable. _ But your heart has always been open and pure. Why do you think this now?”

“I’ve always thought my talents were better suited to helping the people,” Ardyn says, haltingly. “To bide away on a throne seemed… such a waste. I mollified any doubts by telling myself that Somnus always took more readily to ruling than I.”

Would it hurt less to say it quickly, with no preamble? Would that he never had to say it at all.

“I take it the purpose of your visit was to see Prompto for yourself,” he says. “He’s… quite something, isn’t he?”

“He is an absolute darling. A mysterious foreign beauty with a heart of gold and eyes like the sky — it’s something straight from my poetry collection.” Aera lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “But I suppose you’ll be referring to the fact that he is from the future.”

“Ah.”

He supposed he should have seen this coming. Aera never  _ was _ one to mince words.

“Yes,” he says. “I imagine you know  _ why _ he’s here, then.”

“As much as he would tell us, yes.” Aera reaches out for Ardyn, but her hand hangs in the air, as though waiting for him to make contact. “We will fix this, Ardyn. You and I can commune with the Astrals and find a solution.”

“A  _ solution,” _ Ardyn echoes, with a mirthless laugh. “I fear that the gods have closed their ears to me, dear Aera. I fear the taint has gone too deep.”

Aera frowns, and drops her hand. “What do you mean?”

Can she not feel it, as he does? Can she not smell it dripping from his very pores?

“The future,” he says. “The dark, desolate world that Prompto’s comes from, that our children’s children will inherit.  _ I _ am to blame.”

“You? You  _ alone _ are responsible for the future?” Aera laughs. It is not the playful sort of laughter that he is used to hearing from her. “This is why I called you insufferable, my dear. You must share the blame as you share everything else you have.”

“You would not dismiss it so quickly if Prompto had told you what he told me,” Ardyn says darkly. “Believe me when I say that I take no pride in accepting the blame for this. It shames me to my  _ core _ to know what I’ll become.”

“Then explain what you mean. All this mystery is helping nothing.”

“He called me the Accursed,” he says. “Two thousand years from now, I still live — cursed to immortality by the Scourge that runs through my veins.”

“What?” Aera’s voice comes in a whisper, and for the first time he sees her confidence shaken.

“I can feel it, Aera,” he says, his voice trembling no matter how hard he fights to stop it. “Poisoning me. When Prompto and I first met, he was  _ frightened _ of me.”

It’s clear Aera is struggling with the revelation. But as always, she attempts to find a solution. 

“Ardyn, none of it has yet come to pass. You haven’t done anything to earn Prompto’s fear. Surely now that we know, we can prevent it.”

Ardyn moves to his feet and turns his back on the Crystal, only Aera’s worried face filling his vision.

“I pray that you are right.”

* * *

A hellish landscape sprawls for miles around: dark skies, the deep red of dried blood, swirl like a vortex overhead. The air is so thick with miasma that Ardyn struggles to breathe.

He can hear someone crying out for help. He looks around blindly in the darkness, desperately seeking them out, but the voice echoes in the hills, disorienting him.

He stumbles forward, picking any which way. He has to find them. He has to  _ help _ them.

The shadows curl and convulse around him, taking on malevolent shapes. He thinks he can hear the cackling of daemons, over the hoarse, ragged sounds of his own breathing. When he pricks his ears he can hear the plaintive voice still calling out, weaker now.

“Where are you?” he shouts. “I’m coming for you.”

A whimper rings out, muffled and terrified. It’s coming from close by.

There’s a large rock protruding from the dirt nearby, almost in the shape of a gravestone. When Ardyn approaches it, his eyes pick out a smudged shape on its surface — a handprint, smeared in blood.

More blood dapples the ground as he rounds the rock; the smell of it makes his stomach roil.

A figure shelters behind the rock, curled into a ball. He recognises the blonde hair; can see the freckles littering his arms even in the unnatural twilight.

“Prompto.”

A whimper escapes Prompto’s lips, and he stumbles forward onto his knees, turning. He throws his hand up, his face twisted in terror.

“No,” he cries. “Please, no more.”

Blood trickles from a nose, from a cut on his lip. Bruises ring his wrist, in the shape of fingers.

“Why, my dear boy.”

Ardyn’s frozen, unable to move — and yet his body seems to move without him, his lips curling with words that are not of his own choosing.

He steps forward and leans down to Prompto, gripping at his jaw,  _ yanking _ it upwards.

“We’ve only just begun.”

* * *

Ardyn awakens screaming, to soft hands shaking urgently at his shoulders.

“Ardyn,” Prompto whispers harshly. “Wake up!”

Ardyn’s scream cuts off with a strangled sound. He can see Prompto peering at him, see the concern on his face in the wan light streaming through the opening of the door. As he shakes off the shrouds of his nightmare, it’s difficult to separate the Prompto in his feverish imaginings from the one before him now.

“Prompto,” he gasps, clutching at the front of the young man’s robes with relief, before remembering himself and pulling away.

Prompto grabs his hand. “You were having a nightmare,” he says quietly. “There’s a bit of time before we have to get up for morning duties. If you want I can, um... stay here until you can sleep again?”

Ardyn takes a breath to steady himself. He can still feel the darkness of the nightmare scape bleeding in around the edges, and no matter how much he blinks he can’t quite seem to shake it away.

His better nature tells him he should send Prompto away, but there’s a selfish part of him that’s reassured by the young man’s presence, that wants him to  _ stay. _

“You don’t have to do that,” he says with a sigh.

Even so, his hand is still clasped within Prompto’s slender fingers as he rolls onto his back to look up at the ceiling.

“That’s not a no.” Prompto moves to sit on the bed with Ardyn, still not letting go of his hand. “I always feel better when someone is around after a nightmare. Even if we don’t talk, it’s just... nice, I guess. Having someone nearby.”

Swallowing, Ardyn gives a subtle nod of his head. It’s difficult to ask, outright — to ask for the comfort of Prompto’s presence, knowing what he does.

At least with Prompto’s hand in his own, it’s a tangible link to this world, where his mind keeps dwelling on the one of his dreams.

“My mind torments me,” he says. “I close my eyes and all I see is a world of ruin.”

Prompto smiles very softly. “Same, buddy. Even if I’m here, surrounded by all this light and all these good people, it’s hard to escape it.

“It must be twice as scary for you. But like... okay, we didn’t hit it off at all when I first met you here, but I’m actually glad you’re here.” Absently, he begins to trace circles on Ardyn’s hand. “You’re so different, but you’re also the only really familiar thing I have here. I don’t know if this makes sense, but... if we can’t stop this from happening, and you do still live for another couple thousand years, at the very least you can look forward to seeing me again?”

Prompto shakes his head and laughs. “Sorry, I’m rambling! That didn’t even make sense. But... yeah. I guess what I wanna say is, I’m here for you now. And I’ll be there for you even if the worst happens. Assuming I keep my memories of all this.”

“You’re a strange soul, Prompto,” Ardyn says, with a laugh that — surprisingly — is rather heartfelt. “But I can see why you were chosen to come here.”

He glances up at Prompto and watches the way the light from the doorway casts him in silhouette. Gently, he lifts Prompto’s hand and touches it to his forehead, closing his eyes. Prompto’s skin is warm and soft and solid, and he clings to the feel of it when memories from his nightmare threaten to creep in.

Prompto’s fingers brush against his hair, and Ardyn can feel him lean forward. The simple cotton of his temple robes is soft against Ardyn’s skin. 

“This might be a little weird, but I know it works for me when I wake up scared,” he whispers. His voice is so hesitant, so nervous— but at the same time, there is that core of steel conviction that always surfaces when he sees someone in need. “Can I lie down beside you?”

Ardyn draws in a breath.

_ Don’t. Send him away. _

Silently, he nods. The coarse fabric of his bedding rustles as he moves, until he’s backed up against the wall. The cot is small — it barely fits him, but he never complains when his days at the temple leave him too weary to travel all the way to the palace — and he has no doubt that it will struggle to fit the two of them, but he shapes his body in such a way that Prompto can curl around it.

Prompto’s other hand settles on his chest, head pressed against his neck. Ardyn can feel soft, warm breaths against his skin — quick at first, then slowing as Prompto relaxes.

Ardyn’s heart still pounds from the last tangled threads of his dream, but his own body begins in turn to loosen, lulled by Prompto’s presence at warmth. 

He tries to fight off sleep as a thought comes to him, but it’s gone with his next breath, his eyes fluttering shut.

* * *

Prompto still lies with him when birdsong rouses him later. Ardyn’s arm is wrapped around the young man, and their hands are clasped together between him.

His heart lurches with gratitude. Prompto stayed with him, as he’d said he would; sleep had come more easily for Prompto’s reassuring weight being there beside him. He’d slept dreamlessly, and as soundly as could be hoped.

It seems a shame to disturb Prompto. Somehow, in this moment of stillness and peace, it’s as though none of the revelations of the night before can touch them. Ardyn wonders if it’s selfish to let him rest a little longer, just to keep up the pretense of everything being all right.

The temple must already be coming to life, and if someone should chance to see the two of them like this…

Ardyn sighs.

“Prompto,” he says, gently. “It’s morning.”

“Mmm...” Prompto wakes up slowly, eyes slitted as though glaring at Ardyn for disturbing his rest. But his expression relaxes, and he gives a tentative smile. “Morning. Did you sleep okay?”

Ardyn nods. Prompto’s hair sticks up from sleeping in such a confined space. Ardyn just about resists the compulsion to smooth it down, busying himself instead with the fastenings of his night robe.

“Much better than I expected, no doubt thanks to you.”

Prompto sits up and yawns, stretching out his arms. His robe slides down his shoulder, but he doesn’t appear to notice. “Ooh, that bed is  _ definitely _ not made for two. And no problem about the nightmares, I know how it goes.”

Ardyn’s glance flicks, as if by itself, to the pale skin of Prompto’s shoulder. With a cough into his hand, he glances away.

“I believe my neck shall pay for sleeping so awkwardly,” he says. “Although I’m grateful to you for staying, nevertheless.”

“Anytime you spend a night at the temple, if you ever need anyone to talk to, just let me know.” Prompto’s smile is understanding. “Although I guess your place at the Citadel is much comfier.”

“Citadel?” Ardyn repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “An echo from your time?”

Prompto slaps a hand over his mouth. “Oops! Yes, uh. It’s called the Citadel in my time.”

“Curious,” Ardyn murmurs.

And it is — to have someone from the future, who knows how history unfolds, sitting just inches away. Ardyn knows there are those who would use this information for nefarious means; he only finds himself full of wonder, even in spite of what he knows about his own fate.

“Tell me,” he says, clasping Prompto’s hand. “Before the darkness fell. Did you have a happy life?”

“I did.” Prompto ducks his head, almost shy. “I grew up in a city called Insomnia. It was amazing — it was the biggest city in Lucis, with all the latest technology, all the good things. It wasn’t perfect, but it was safe. King Regis protected us by using the Crystal to create a barrier around the city so that no daemons could get in. Noct — Prince Noctis and I used to go and hang out all the time. When Niflheim attacked, and Insomnia fell...”

Prompto shakes his head. “It’s a long story, and I should probably get out of your room before anyone finds me. But... maybe we could continue in the gardens?”

Ardyn can’t ignore the frisson that traverses his spine at the mention of an attack. He knows of Niflheim — the Land of the Mist. For the most part, they’ve been content to keep to themselves for centuries, other than sporadic trade. Their culture is less advanced than Lucis, though, but evidently that must change in times to come.

“Certainly,” he says. “Ah… Perhaps we should wash up first? I can meet you in the gardens as soon as we’re ready.”

“No problemo!” Prompto jumps off the bed, eliciting an almighty creak from the rickety metal frame. “See you later, buddy!”

With a jaunty wave, he disappears from the room. Ardyn can hear him humming a cheerful tune out in the hallway, which fades out of earshot the further Prompto goes.


	13. Chapter 13

The water in the temple is freezing cold every morning, and when Prompto dunks his head in the bucket, he comes back out with teeth chattering. It’s _good_ , in a way, because it helps him focus on something other than last night.

_Last night._

Despite the cold water, Prompto’s body is still warm with the memory of Ardyn’s arm around his waist, that broad chest, the scent of him all around. Prompto knows he should be horrified by it, terrified even. He’d willingly climbed into bed with the enemy.

But he isn’t the enemy anymore— or rather, not yet.

Prompto knows, in a horribly intimate way, just how terrifying it is to find out one is meant to be the thing they hate most. But unlike Ardyn, he’d escaped that fate. The man he’s seen tending the wounded and sacrificing everything for his people is going to become everything he’s ever feared, and Prompto has no real idea how to stop it.

But he has to. It’s not just for the Lucis he knows anymore, but for the sake of Ardyn himself.

Prompto finishes his morning ablutions and heads for the cloister gardens. Normally, he’d join everyone in the dining hall for prayers and a simple breakfast, but since Prompto is not an official acolyte, he’s not required to be there. He’s grateful for that now as he steps outside to join Ardyn.

“Hey,” he says when he approaches.

He seems to catch Ardyn off guard. The king looks up as though waking from a dream, his eyes becoming clear at last as they meet Prompto’s. He’s dressed simply, as is his custom, and he wears his hair tied back, hanging loose in his face.

“Hello,” he says.

The sun streaming into the garden casts the shadows beneath his eyes in stark purple, although the weariness etched into his face seems to ease as he smiles in greeting.

“You’re looking better than last night,” Prompto says. “But not the best. What do you think of skiving off duties for the day and just hanging out? I think you might need the rest.”

Ardyn purses his lips. Prompto wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never had a day off in his life; he’s already anticipating the polite refusal.

Ardyn sighs, and inclines his head.

“Perhaps that would do me some good,” he says. “I suppose I can’t heal if I’m fatigued.”

Prompto is so surprised he doesn’t respond for a full minute, then he grins and hooks his arm around Ardyn’s. “Excellent! Don’t think I’ve forgotten our conversation from this morning, though— I was thinking we could buy some of that nice-smelling bread from the market for breakfast and go wandering outside the city. Think you’ll be up for that?”

The king appears to mull it over for a moment before giving a nod.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to collect my travelling cloak from my room. It might be better if I go unnoticed today.”

“Absolutely! I’ll get my bag too.” Prompto grins widely, and tugs at Ardyn’s arm to get him to move faster. Distractions are his _specialty_ , and he can’t wait to get going.

With Ardyn’s cloak retrieved— he pulls the hood low, as if to hide his face even as he wanders the halls of the temples— they make for Prompto’s room.

Ardyn seems unsettled, but that kind of makes sense, in light of everything.

“We’ll be fine,” Prompto whispers to him.

He doesn’t have much, only his leather satchel. He doesn’t even have a travelling cloak, as he’d left the one he’d had at the palace. He supposes he can retrieve it now that he’s on slightly better terms with Somnus, but it still feels wrong to live off his kindness when there had been such a great rift between them.

They make their way through the temple gates, Prompto humming a cheery tune beside the much more quiet Ardyn. The sounds and smells of the city hit them as soon as they are out of the grounds, and Prompto whoops in delight.

“Yeah! First stop, market!”

Ardyn isn’t exactly inconspicuous, tall as he is, but at least with his burgundy hair hidden away beneath the dark grey of his cloak, he’s not quite so recognisable. He sticks close to Prompto, taking his arm and leaning on it. He must still be hurting from all their walking the day before.

“As you wish,” he murmurs.

Prompto takes it slow, letting Ardyn rest on him whenever necessary. When they arrive at the market, he leads him over to his favourite baker, and _ooh_ s and _aah_ s over the display of sweet and savoury rolls.

“What do you want?” he asks Ardyn.

Ardyn seems less than enthusiastic about the prospect of food, although he picks out a roll filled with seeds and grains and moves for the coin pouch he carries at his waist.

“Choose whatever you would like,” he says softly.

There’s a kind of gentleness to Ardyn, even in the face of his own suffering. Prompto looks up at him and gives him an encouraging smile, then selects a cheesy, honeyed roll for himself.

“This one, please,” he says to the baker, then searches in his satchel for the little bit of coin he’s sure he left in there somewhere.

Before he can get that far, Ardyn’s reaching past him with a handful of coin. Even though his hood casts his face in shadow, he offers the baker a warm smile.

“Thank you, sir,” says the baker with a sincere smile. Of all the vendors in the market, he’s one of the most beloved— an old, greying man with poor eyesight but the best breads this side of Eos. “It does my heart good to see young couples like yourselves. Why, it reminds me of my late wife...”

Prompto doesn’t have the heart to correct the old man as he waxes lyrical about their first date. Fortunately, the encounter doesn’t take too long, and the baker sends them off with a tearful smile and a free sample of his newest experimental bread.

“That was kinda sweet,” he says to Ardyn, trying to stave off any awkwardness as they walk towards the city gates. “Thanks for breakfast by the way! I’ve gotta pay you back sometime.”

Ardyn laughs; it’s so good to see him smile again, and there’s a twinkle in his eye.

“What manner of husband would I be if I didn’t provide for you?” he teases, with a small bow.

Prompto can’t help his giggles. Who would have thought it would take this, if all things, to cheer Ardyn up?

“Well then, dear husband,” he says in his best approximation of a lovestruck youth, offering his arm to Ardyn. “Consider me suitably wooed!”

Ardyn happily takes Prompto’s arm and, with a demure smile, sets off on his way.

“Tell me, my heart,” he says, ducking low to speak sweetly in Prompto’s ear. “My memory isn’t as good as it once was. What was the day of our wedding like?”

_My heart._

It’s _Prompto’s_ heart that skips a beat at that. He shivers a little at the feeling of Ardyn’s warm breath on his ear.

“It was, um.” He wets his lips, and tries to think of his perfect day. It’s surprisingly not too hard to insert Ardyn into the fantasy. “It was amazing. We had our wedding on the beach, at sunset, and when it was night we built a bonfire and danced around it like wild men. We spent the night under the stars, and the morning watching the sunrise.”

He looks up at Ardyn and smiles. “It was perfect.”

“Ah yes,” Ardyn says, glancing off into the distance as though swept up in a fond memory. “You had flowers in your hair, and when you asked me if they were beautiful I said they paled next to you.”

He takes Prompto’s hand then and lifts it so gently to his lips.

Prompto gasps when he feels the first brush of chapped lips against his skin. He glances up at Ardyn, meets his eyes, and finds he can’t breathe. It’s like time has stopped around them, or slowed enough that Prompto can take him every detail of him— the road-weathered skin, the playfulness in his eyes, the careful way he holds Prompto’s small hand in his.

His face seems to shift slightly, seriousness making their home in his eyes. Before Prompto has time to wonder if he’s done something wrong, Ardyn carefully lets go of his hand and glances away.

“Daylight is wasting, as they say,” Ardyn murmurs. He seems so far away all of a sudden.

“Y-Yeah. We’d better get going.”

Even as they walk away, Prompto brushes his hand against Ardyn’s, wondering what that was all about.

He should be _horrified_ with himself. He can picture his friends’ faces already, full of disappointment. After everything Ardyn’s done...

But he hasn’t done any of it yet. Prompto shakes his head, and tells himself firmly that he should remember that. He wants to _save_ Ardyn, not judge him for crimes he hasn’t even committed.

And if Prompto still thinks about the feeling of Ardyn’s lips on his hand, the arm around his waist... well, then. That’s a different matter entirely.

They walk far enough that the awkward silence fades into a companionable one instead, and when they get past the city gates, Prompto feels more himself again. He nudges Ardyn gently with his shoulder.

“Know any nice places around here? I’m kinda wanting to see the scenery.”

“Certainly,” Ardyn says, keeping his hood up until they’re out of view of the gates.

He seems to be back to his usual composed self, as though nothing happened. Maybe, to him, nothing did.

“The plains are rather beautiful at this time of day,” he adds. “Although we should take care with your fair skin in the sun.”

“I’m game for anything. I love the sun!” Prompto declares.

“It would seem the sun loves you as well,” Ardyn says, with a smile. “Your freckles have truly come out since you arrived here.”

Prompto blushes, touching his cheek self-consciously. His freckles had always marked him as different, back in Insomnia— that, and his blond hair, had marked him as an outsider. Not everyone had been obviously _mean_ about it, but he knows his looks tend to make people stare. “I can’t help it, they just pop up like daisies. Do you find them too weird?”

“On the contrary. I think they’re rather striking.”

Ardyn’s smile seems to spread to his eyes as he takes in the spray of freckles scattered across Prompto’s cheeks.

“You certainly stand out in the streets of Inlustris,” he says, “but I wouldn’t call that a bad thing by any means.”

Prompto’s blush only deepens at that, but the sight of Ardyn’s smile is so nice after such an awful night that he can’t help but smile back. “Oh. Um, thank you.”

“You were telling me about your home earlier, I believe,” Ardyn says. “Please— I’d love to hear about it.”

_Home._ His life in Insomnia seems so distant from now, but when he closes his eyes, he can picture it perfectly. He remembers the feeling of hot concrete under his shoes, the smell of petrol and fried food, the sounds of several million people going about their lives, the knowledge that Noctis is right there beside him through it all. He’s hit by a sudden, intense longing to see it all again, so much it’s almost physically painful.

How can he even begin to describe it to Ardyn?

But he hasn’t really been able to talk about it since it fell. He’d been too afraid to bring it up around Noct, Ignis, and Gladio; they’d all lost so much more than a home, and Prompto didn’t want to make everything worse for them. He’s realising now just how much he _needs_ to talk about it, and now that he has a willing audience, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

“Insomnia was the Crown City of Lucis. There were huge, huge buildings, called skyscrapers, which really looked like they could touch the clouds!” Prompto stretches out his arms to illustrate. “One of them was the Citadel, which is kinda like the palace. They kept the Crystal there, so we’d see this big purple light rising from the centre of the city. It powered the Wall, which was like... a magical barrier, I guess, that the king set up to keep out daemons.”

He glances at Ardyn to make sure he’s still listening; he knows he has a tendency to ramble and lose his audience.

“I loved walking around and taking photos of things that caught my eye. Usually it would be dogs or cats I met on the street, but sometimes the sunset would be _just right_ and I’d feel the need to... I don’t know. Make memories, I guess.” He smiles a little sheepishly, somewhat embarrassed by his own enthusiasm.

“Insomnia,” Ardyn murmurs. He seems to mull over it for a moment, but whatever he’s thinking, he keeps to himself.

“It sounds like a remarkable place— I can scarcely imagine the wonders of which you speak. You must miss it a great deal.”

“I do,” Prompto says. “I miss the people, I miss the city. Lots of memories of growing up there, you know? But like, I also feel like I was most at home when Insomnia fell. Maybe it’s a terrible thing to say, but when it was just me and my best friends travelling Lucis, I guess that’s when I really understood that home isn’t just a place.”

Ardyn inclines his head. For a moment, he’s silent as they walk.

“I understand,” he says, eventually. “Sometimes it takes calamity to show you who your true kindred is.”

“Yeah...” Prompto chews at his lip. “Can I... can I tell you about them? My friends, I mean.”

“I would love to hear about them,” Ardyn says. His hand touches Prompto’s arm gently, before slipping away.

It’s like some kind of weight has lifted off Prompto’s chest. He’s been keeping so much to himself, terrified of how they’d all react to knowing about the future, but with Ardyn, he can be _honest_.

He directs Ardyn to sit on a nearby flat rock, knowing his leg must be paining him, and bounces on his feet in excitement.

“I have three best friends in the whole world, and they’re all like, important people in Lucian history, so I’m lowest in the rankings basically.”

Prompto takes out some of the free bread the baker had given them, breaks it, and hands half to Ardyn. “One of them is Ignis, or sometimes we call him Iggy. He’s the advisor to the prince— well, _king,_ now— and basically his right-hand man. He does everything for him, but my favourite thing he does is cooking! He makes the _best_ food I’ve ever had. No offence to the palace cooks, but Ignis would put them all to shame. He speaks really fancy words with a fancy accent, and he’s the smartest guy I know! If you met him now, you’d get along amazing.”

“Clever, and a cook,” Ardyn muses, with a smile. He seems content now to sit and listen, basking in the sun. “He certainly sounds like good company to keep.”

“Mhm! Then there’s Gladio, he’s like... Gilgamesh, I guess! He’s Noctis’ Shield, and he comes from a long line of Shields. He’s big and buff and kind of scary-looking, but he’s a really kind person under all that, and gets along with other people really well. He can be a little hard, sometimes, but he’s under a lot of pressure. He’s actually the most genuinely _noble_ person I know.”

Ardyn seems to listen fondly, his eyes closed as he takes in Prompto’s words.

“The brain, and the might,” he says. When his eyes open, they settle on Prompto, warmth reaching their hazel depths. “Would that make you the heart?”

Prompto’s next words sputter and die on his lips, and he feels his face light up in a blush again. Ardyn’s expression looks so fond, so warm; Prompto doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked at him this way before.

“That’s not me,” he says softly, once he’s caught his breath. “The heart of us? That’s always been Noct.”

“Noct,” Ardyn echoes. “He is your king, yes?”

It’s so strange to hear him say Noctis’ name. Ardyn says it in the same way Prompto remembers, or perhaps it’s Prompto’s own mind playing tricks on him. Lilting, playful— almost _proprietary_ in the way he wraps his lips around the name, like there’s some secret only they share.

It’s instinct, the way Prompto’s entire body tenses, and his fingers twitch for a gun he can’t summon. It’s _reason_ , the way he tells himself that the Ardyn here and now doesn’t even know Noctis at all, and isn’t a threat. Won’t be, for another two millennia.

His skin prickles with an adrenaline rush with nowhere to go.

Prompto swallows. “Yeah. Noctis Lucis Caelum. The one hundred and fourteenth king of Lucis.”

Ardyn blinks, and for a moment he’s very still.

“Lucis Caelum.”

He lays his hands flat on his lap, turning his glance out towards the plains. He’d almost seem to be at peace if it weren’t for the tension in his shoulders.

“Lady Aera and I have spoken a little,” he says, “on what we would like for our children, after we are wed. She joked of having daughters to forge covenants with the gods, and sons to fend off the daemons in the night.”

He looks at Prompto, his face impassive. Cold, almost.

“It’s a pleasant thought, but something tells me it doesn’t come to pass.”

“Ah.”

Just like that, all the adrenaline leaves Prompto, and he moves to sit beside Ardyn on the rock. The heat of Ardyn’s body is more than the sun-warmed stone, and Prompto closes his eyes and allows himself to feel it.

“No,” he says truthfully. He can’t se Ardyn’s expression, but he hopes it’s not too sad. “But he’s still of your blood, you know. I think... I think you’d be proud of him, if you knew him.”

“To think that Somnus will be a father someday,” Ardyn says. “I only hope that I…”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Prompto says firmly. “We’re going to _change things_ , okay? Believe in that.”

“And how?” Ardyn protests. “I’ve tried to pray for guidance, yet only more questions and doubts plague me. I can barely bring himself to look at the faces of those we work with at the temple when I know what I am to become.”

“Well... maybe I’m the answer to your prayers.” Prompto nudges him playfully. “This time, it’ll be different.”

Ardyn sighs. Prompto feels his weight rest against him slightly, for just a moment before he pulls away.

“I hope you’re right.”


	14. Chapter 14

Another night plagued by distorted, awful imaginings — and no Prompto this time to chase the fears away in the pre-dawn light.

Would that Ardyn might have spent the night once more in the temple, but even the soft murmurs of prayer had been cacophonous while he attempted to straighten out his thoughts. Besides, Lady Aera has taken her lodgings at the palace, and he’d had a need to speak with her.

Their conversation from the night before still echoes in his mind as he makes his way through the streets of Inlustris, cowled beneath his hood. She had tried to dissuade him, of course, but she had relented in the end, as he had known she would.

He only hopes that Prompto is as easy to convince.

By rights, Ardyn knows he needn’t say anything, but to leave without at least explaining  _ why —  _ when indeed he may not ever come back — feels disloyal, somehow. Perhaps it’s the long days they’ve worked side by side at the temple; perhaps it’s Prompto’s divine mission.

Perhaps it’s that Prompto has come to mean something to him of late.

He ducks his head as he slips through the crowded streets, his sights set on the temple. It is far from the first time he’s attempted to avoid the public eye whilst wandering Inlustris, although his reasons are markedly different of late. He cannot stomach their bows and their words of praise when he can feel the darkness festering within.

It only takes a word with one of the acolytes at the temple to locate Prompto — he has a day’s rest from his toiling today, much to Ardyn’s relief, as he knows how difficult it can be to drag the young man from his work.

He finds Prompto in the cloister gardens, enjoying the sun. Swallowing down the bitterness in his throat, Ardyn steps out into the light.

It takes an agonisingly long while before Prompto notices him, occupied as he is with paper and a piece of charcoal. But when he does look up, the smile he gives Ardyn is nothing short of brilliant.

“Hey! Perfect timing,” he says as he hops to his feet. He bounces on his heels, grinning with all the excitement of a puppy. “I need your face!”

It seems that any lingering foul mood evaporates in Prompto’s presence. His exuberance is beyond contagious, at times.

“My face?” Ardyn says, unable to contain a wry smile as he approaches. “I hope you plan on returning it in the condition in which you found it.”

“Better, even!” Prompto takes Ardyn’s hand and leads him over to a stone bench shaded by a blossoming peach tree, their favourite spot in the gardens. “Okay, just sit here, and I’ll give you back your face when I’m ready.”

The matter that brought Ardyn here is urgent, of course, but he’s content to do as Prompto asks. Prompto’s hand is so gentle and so warm in his own, and yet there’s something to it that makes Ardyn feel safe. He’ll make a good addition to the temple’s clergy someday, should he choose to pursue such a life. With a pang, Ardyn wonders if he’ll ever see it.

A delicate touch on his jaw, and Ardyn’s head is angled just so. Another hand brushes some of the hair away from his face, tucking some stray locks behind his ear.

“There,” Prompto says fondly. “Perfection.”

Then he skips away and takes his paper and charcoal, sitting on the grass a little away from Ardyn. “Just look at me, okay? I know it’s probably boring, but bear with me for like, ten minutes.”

Ardyn’s scalp tingles, not unpleasantly. It’s a welcome change of pace to sit still and model for Prompto, dutifully doing as he’s told.

He watches Prompto as he works — the slight crinkle of concentration at the bridge of his nose, at the corners of his eyes. He watches Prompto’s delicate eyelashes flutter as he glances up and down from Ardyn and back to the page.

He wonders if he should say it now, to get it over with, but he can’t bring himself to disrupt the stillness that has settled over them.

After some time, the scratch of the charcoal stops. Prompto looks up and gazes at Ardyn, studying his face intently. A little, warm smile plays upon his lips; Ardyn has a feeling that Prompto is not smiling at  _ him, _ per se, but that he is so content in the moment that he cannot help but share his joy with the world.

_ Beautiful, _ he sees Prompto mouth silently to himself.

“Have you quite finished with my face?” Ardyn teases. “I’m afraid I rather need it to live.”

“Just a minute,” he says, and goes back to his work. A few more careful strokes, another set of glances, and finally Prompto lets out a long breath.

“Aaaand, done! You can have your face back now.”

Ardyn’s almost hesitant as he edges himself closer to the young man. He’s seen himself in mirrors, of course, and the first Lucian coin in circulation was an image of his face in profile; to see himself as Prompto does, however…

“May I?” he asks, tentatively reaching out.

“Sure,” Prompto says with a pleased smile, and shows him the paper.

It’s a rough sketch, but with enough detail to still make it absolutely breathtaking. Long, bold strokes and delicate curls show the flowering peach tree, framing a waist-up sketch of Ardyn himself. With only a few lines Prompto hints at strong shoulders, an angular jaw, and long hair with the barest wave. It’s clear that he spent the most time capturing Ardyn’s face: his striking features, and the expression on his face as he looked at Prompto

Warm, peaceful, impossibly fond. Impossibly kind.

“Do you like it?” Prompto asks.

Ardyn finds himself quite speechless. He wants to say something — anything — to convey how touched he is, but words don’t seem to be enough.

“It’s wonderful,” he says, his hand finding Prompto’s.

“It’s you,” Prompto says simply, sweetly. His hand squeezes Ardyn’s once, and he doesn’t move to let go. “Also, it’s yours. I’d like you to have it.”

If Prompto never let go, Ardyn would be hard pressed to complain. Everything — the sunlight, the pleasant breeze, the hum of the world around them — feels like heaven.

With his other hand, Ardyn gratefully accepts the sketch.

When he moves to thank Prompto, there’s a lump in his throat. He can’t help but think of what he came here to do, what he had wanted to say. Looking into Prompto’s open, trusting eyes, he’s not sure that he can do it.

He looks away, his heart twisting.

_ If only there were another way. _

“Ardyn?” Prompto asks gently. Another squeeze of his hand. “Are you okay?”

Such irony, that his touch should be the most painful thing in the world, and yet that closeness is what Ardyn craves most. Ardyn’s better nature tells him to let go. He doesn’t.

“I… had something I wanted to speak with you about.”

Prompto still hasn’t let go of him either. “Fire away.”

Ardyn draws in a breath. It seems the sunlight’s touch on his skin doesn’t quite warm him any more.

“The things you told me, of what shall come to pass,” he says, “have left me rather shaken. I suppose, most of all, I knew something like this was coming. I could only turn a blind eye to what was happening to me for so long.”

He touches his hand to the parchment in his grasp, seeking reassurance from Prompto’s steady, sure lines.

“I have spoken with Lady Aera about it. I intend to accompany her on her next pilgrimage. I wanted to tell you, because I… can’t say with any certainty that I will return.”

The look on Prompto’s face is heartbreaking.

“You’re leaving? But I only just— we just—” Prompto’s voice cracks halfway through, and he visibly swallows and starts again. “Are you going to heal more people? Ardyn, you  _ can’t, _ please stay here!”

Ardyn’s heart twists. He had feared this was coming.

“Prompto.”

He sets the portrait aside and turns to the young man, taking both his hands in his own.

“What am I if I cannot heal?” he says. “What is my purpose, if not to bring peace to those who suffer? I cannot stop. I  _ must not _ stop. You understand that, do you not?”

Prompto’s hands are cold in his. “Ardyn, you’re not  _ just _ a healer. You... you mean so much more to us than that. It’s a noble cause, but Ardyn, you  _ know _ what’ll happen if you keep going this way!”

“And if I stop?” Ardyn counters. “If I condemn all those people to needless suffering, I’m no better than this man you tell me I’ll come to be.”

“And you’ll condemn even more if you don’t!” Prompto’s nails dig crescents into Ardyn’s palms. His face is so very pale, and his eyes don’t seem to see Ardyn in front of him, lost in some memory of horror.

Ardyn tries to snatch his hand away, but Prompto’s grip is so tight, so frantic.

He can feel irritation welling up within him. Who is this young man — this  _ stranger — _ to dictate the path he chooses? Whatever may come to pass in the future, at least Ardyn may hold sway over the present.

When he speaks, his tone is cold, in spite of the fiery anger spiking within him.

“Are you so desperate to save your own world that you have no compassion for this one?”

Prompto looks as though he has been slapped. “How can you say that?” he snaps at Ardyn. “You just have no idea what it’s like!”

“Then tell me,” Ardyn retorts.

He feels for Prompto, and all that he’s been through — truly he does — yet to give up healing would be to give up the one thing that gives Ardyn a purpose in this life.

“Make me understand what could be so much worse than turning a blind eye to all this suffering.”

Prompto lets go of his hand. “You really want to know who gave me these scars?” he asks, gesturing to the faint marks across the bridge of his nose and down his temple. “You want to know the reason why I was  _ starving _ when I first came here? Or who razed a whole city and condemned the  _ world _ to slowly die in the dark?”

Revulsion rises up in Ardyn, the taste of bile at the back of his throat, surging like the ichor in his veins.

_ Ask him, _ some insidious voice within him says.  _ Ask him what you already know to be true. _

Ardyn clenches his fists and looks Prompto dead in the eye.

“Tell me.”

For a moment, it looks as though Prompto is going to say it. But when he meets Ardyn’s eyes, his expression shifts from anger into something pained.

“Ardyn Izunia orphaned my friends, blinded one, tormented us all nearly to the breaking point. He kidnapped me,  _ tortured _ me until I barely knew who I was anymore. As far as I’m concerned, Ardyn Izunia has murdered millions of people, and the survivors are just hanging by a thread.” 

Prompto narrows his eyes. “I won’t let you become him. I  _ won’t.” _

The gardens swim around Ardyn. Everything feels at once so claustrophobic, and yet a million miles away. Ardyn lurches away, trying to rise to his feet; succeeds only in stumbling and crawling away on all fours like some animal in its dying hour.

_ Orphaned my friends, blinded one, tormented us all. _

_ Kidnapped me. _

_ Tortured me. _

A feral sound rips free of Ardyn’s throat: an anguished cry of  _ “No.” _ It can’t be true — he can’t have done these things. Not  _ him. _

Yet he knows it, deep within him. Knows that there’s a part of his nature that would do those things, if he only let it. The part that held a wounded bird in his hands as a boy and thought how frail it was, how easy it would be to snuff out an already fading flame…

It had been Somnus who had run out to him from their home; Somnus who had toddled over, and cried when he’d seen the bird was hurt.

“Help it, Ardy!” he’d begged. “Make it better again!”

_ Somnus. _ If Ardyn left, if he went away somewhere that nobody would ever find him, Somnus would take over the throne. He would be a fair and kind ruler; he’s done so well at it all these years in Ardyn’s absence.

And yet — isn’t that what Somnus has always wanted? As much as he may have idolised Ardyn, there’s always been a part of him that hungered for more — that envied Ardyn’s crown, and his superior abilities. He would leap all too eagerly at the chance to claim the throne for himself.

_ That’s what this is, _ the voice within him says.  _ Somnus is manipulating you. He’s controlling you. And he’s wrapped poor, doe-eyed Prompto around his finger to do his bidding. _

Ardyn can feel the anger coursing through him, until it’s as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. It surges within him, inexorably, like the rising tide. It calls to him, sickly sweet, like nectar from a toxic flower.

It would be so easy to give in; to listen to the voice within.

_ Somnus wants your crown. He’ll stop at nothing to get it. _

_ “No,” _ he snarls, clawing his hands into the dirt.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Prompto’s voice urgent in his ear. “Ardyn, please, you have to control it, you can’t let them see—”

But suddenly there’s screaming, and Prompto is shouting and then the gentle touch is gone, and Ardyn looks up to find himself surrounded by armed guards. Prompto is being held back, struggling against a hulking brute of a man whom Ardyn vaguely recognises.

So many weapons, all turned on him — and in a place of worship, the one he’s helped so much. He can’t help but wonder at the irony of it all. Without him, so many would still suffer within these walls. Without him, the healers would have failed.

And now they come between him and Prompto, as though he’s a  _ threat _ — as though he might ever  _ hurt _ Prompto.

“Drop your weapons at once,” he commands. His voice doesn’t sound like his own.

The nearest guard only raises her spear, angling it toward him.

“I can’t do that, daemon.”

_ Daemon. _

Ichor pours down his cheeks like putrid teardrops, filling his mouth.

Everything goes  _ red. _

With a fearsome roar, he swats at the nearest guard, summoning his scythe to his hand and swinging it in a wide arc. He can hear a cry of pain, but he scarcely knows who it came from. 

They’re swarming him, dozens of them, all sneering faces and glinting teeth. They mean to bring him down, all of them. They’ve been waiting for this.

_ Somnus, _ the voice purrs.  _ They serve Somnus. _

Instinct takes over, and he strikes out blindly, swiping at his enemies with scythe and hand alike. He can feel the Crystal’s magic crackling within him, fiercer and more potent than ever before, and he summons it up, ready to turn it upon those who oppose him.

Pain blooms in his shoulder, a bolt sinking into his flesh, and it’s enough to ground him — enough that he can see Prompto, no long struggling in the arms of his captor, his face pale with fear.

He’s frightened.

Frightened of  _ Ardyn. _

There are yells all around him, and he knows he’s outnumbered — yet he no longer wants to fight. With a gasp of pain from the crossbow bolt lodged in his shoulder, he turns and flees, and doesn’t look back.


	15. Chapter 15

Prompto hasn’t left his cell for two days. He’s been given food by kindly temple acolytes, and the abbess herself has come to see how he’s doing, but he still can’t bring himself to step out of the room and face the world properly. The events of the other day are still too real, still too raw, and nothing anyone says seems to help.

The sight of Ardyn breaking down, of the Scourge pouring out from his eyes, nose, bubbling out through his mouth as he screamed in wordless rage, it’s something Prompto will never forget. The way he’d clawed at the ground like a feral animal was like something straight out of his nightmares, the rip of his scythe through the unarmed temple clergy like something from a horror movie.

But worst of all... worst of all was the way he’d looked at Prompto at the end of it all, just before he’d run. There was pain, yes, and rage— but it was as though the fog in his mind had temporarily, _cruelly,_ lifted only to show Ardyn all of his worst fears coming to life.

And now Ardyn’s gone.

Ardyn’s _gone_ , and probably lost and confused and _scared_ of everything that’s happening. And Prompto’s just _stuck here_ , too weak to push on even now that Ardyn needs him. Too weak to ignore how the memory of the Scourge consuming Ardyn makes his skin crawl and heart pound in useless panic. There are only a few times he’s ever felt so helpless in his life.

A knock on his cell door pulls him temporarily out of his thoughts.

“Come in,” Prompto calls. His voice is thin and reedy.

The door opens to reveal Malacus, the priest who’d dragged Prompto away from Ardyn that day. He’s a big man, always has been, but he’s gentle and shy, and reminds Prompto in a heartaching way of Jared. He fills the whole doorway with all his awkward, well-meaning bulk, even as he visibly tries to make himself smaller. Prompto wonders if he thinks he’s frightened; everyone seems to be walking on eggshells around him now.

“Hello Prompto,” Malacus says with a friendly smile. He waves one giant hand. “How are you?”

Prompto makes an effort to return the smile. He thinks it works this time. “Not too bad, thanks. Might just suck it up and walk around the gardens for a bit instead of wallowing around here.”

“That’s good, but, uh. The gardens are still closed.” Malacus looks hesitant. “You don’t have to push yourself. I know it must have been terrifying, being attacked by His Ma— by a daemon like that. If you ever need to talk, we do have priests who are counsellors here in the temple, or you can always talk to me.”

Prompto smiles and shakes his head. “Not right now, but I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

More like never, he knows.

“That’s alright. Oh, by the way, His Highness is here to visit you. He was still with the abbess when I left, but he shouldn’t be long.”

 _Oh. Somnus._ Prompto squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. He doesn’t know how he can look Somnus in the eye and not be reminded of how terribly he’s failed.

“Okay,” Prompto says. “I’ll wait for him here.”

It seems that Malacus has barely left before Somnus appears, hesitantly popping his head around the door. Things still don’t seem to have returned to normal between them, and everything that happened with Ardyn should only add more strain— but Somnus looks pained as he steps in, and stands awkwardly by the door, fidgeting with his hands in a nervous manner entirely unlike himself.

“Prompto,” he says quietly. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I— I wanted to see how you were doing.”

He doesn’t _look_ much like himself, either; his face is pallid, dark circles ringing his eyes, and his hair looks as though it hasn’t seen a comb in a while.

Prompto stands and crosses the room, reaching out to grasp Somnus’ hand. “I’m fine,” he says. “How have you been holding up? I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to drop by the palace after everything.”

The prince gives a dejected sigh. He clings to Prompto’s hand, as if he’s afraid to let go.

“I’m… I don’t know.”

He breathes out shakily and gives a miserable little laugh.

“There are people chanting in the streets for Ardyn’s head on a pike. Demanding that I take the throne for myself.”

Prompto sucks in a breath. “Gods,” he says, and then wraps his arms around Somnus in a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I meant to stop this from happening, but I couldn’t.”

For a long while, Somnus just hugs him back. He seems so vulnerable, somehow.

“It must have been so frightening,” he murmurs. “The abbess said he… started attacking blindly. I still can’t believe that my _brother—”_

He cuts off and pulls away, swallowing hard.

“How did this happen, Prompto?”

Somnus turns to him, his eyes wild. Prompto hasn’t seen him so terrified since the daemon attack at the hot springs.

“He _heals_ the Scourge. I don’t understand.”

It would have hurt less if Somnus had just ripped his chest straight open. Prompto makes a low, wounded noise, and looks away from Somnus. He stumbles towards the bed and sits there, head in hands.

“I did this,” he mutters. “I should have told you ages ago, but I was so worried about how people would react.”

He looks up. “Ardyn doesn’t heal the Scourge. Not like the Oracle can. He just... takes it from people.”

Somnus is frozen in place, his hands balled at his sides.

“But he… he healed me.”

He shakes his head, confusion written across his features.

“When I was a boy, and the Marilith attacked…”

Prompto frowns. The mention of a Marilith attack reminds him of Noctis— it’s far too similar to be a coincidence. But he has to push the rising suspicion away, because now isn’t the time, not when he’s faced with Somnus falling to pieces.

“He must have taken it from you,” Prompto says gently. “I think he can heal physical injuries, but if it’s the Scourge... he would have done anything to keep you safe.”

The prince stumbles toward the bed, white as a ghost. He just manages to find the edge of it before his legs seem to wobble out from under him.

Prompto opens his arms and wraps Somnus up into another hug. He reaches up, smoothing down Somnus’ hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and finds that it’s the only thing he can say. “I’m sorry.”

“I knew something was wrong when Lady Aera and I met him outside the temple,” Somus says in a small voice. “I should have done something.”

“When was that?” Prompto asks. He wonders if they’d seen Ardyn when he’d fled— Prompto _hopes_ he’s fled. The fact that the city is still out for blood is almost reassuring.

“Days ago,” Somnus says. “When you first met Lady Aera. He hasn’t been to the palace since— I told myself that if something were wrong, he would tell me, but…”

Prompto bites his lip. “That was when I told him,” he says quietly. “I warned him what he would become, in my time.”

Stiffly, Somnus pulls away. He curls his hands in his lap and seems to study them for a long while before he looks up at Prompto.

“That was what you came here to do, wasn’t it? To stop him.”

Prompto nods. “I figured that must be it. I can’t imagine why else I would’ve been sent here, if not to prevent the future.”

“Something tells me it isn’t working,” Somnus says, with a weak laugh.

He sighs and closes his eyes, his shoulders sinking.

“I don’t even know where he is. Maybe it’s better that way.”

“We... we cant just _leave_ him,” Prompto objects.

“I’m not sure that I can do much to help him.”

Somnus looks at Prompto levelly. He seems to have calmed somewhat, at least.

“The nobles expect me to denounce him. It was difficult enough to convince them that I didn’t know all along. You have to understand— they never wanted a Lucis Caelum on their throne. They’ll try to use this to their advantage.”

“But he needs _help_ , not to be shut out!” Prompto takes Somnus’ hand and squeezes it tightly, as though the pressure might help convince him. “If you denounce him, he’ll think he’s totally alone.”

“Perhaps Lady Aera might be able to do something,” Somnus says. “If nothing else, at least she isn’t caught up in all the politics here.”

“You’re his _brother_ , and the prince besides. If anyone can sway them, it’ll be you.”

Somnus sighs. With a minute shake of his head, he looks away.

“I’m duty-bound to protect the people,” he says. “You were there— you saw what he was like. Everyone’s terrified that the king himself could have been corrupted. As much as I want to help him, I have to be seen to put the people first.”

“He’s still in there,” Prompto whispers. “He’s not... he’s not _him_. Not yet. I won’t let it happen.”

With a sudden lurch of disgust in his stomach, he wonders what he’s even _doing_ here. All this talk of not leaving Ardyn alone, and here he is, locking himself away in his little cell because he can’t handle his own guilt. It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.

“I’m going after him,” Prompto says. “You and Lady Aera— you’ve both got responsibilities. But me... I’m nobody. I’ll go find him myself.”

“Prompto, you can’t.”

Somnus clutches at his hand and gives a fervid shake of his head.

“He’s… He’s not in his right mind. He could have killed you.”

In two thousand years, Prompto would have believed Somnus without hesitation. It isn’t like he’s forgotten anything Ardyn has done, or will do— all the suffering he’d caused, all the pain, it’s too much to ever really forget.

Now, Prompto makes a conscious decision: not to forget, not even to really forgive, but to _hope_.

It’s not even entirely about the future anymore. He knows that within Ardyn Lucis Caelum— within Ardyn _Izunia_ — is a capacity for kindness, a deep well of compassion of which Prompto has never seen a match. And if Prompto doesn’t do everything he can to save the man who has saved countless others... well. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself.

“He could have. And he might still kill me,” Prompto says. He stares at Somnus as though daring him to object. “It’s not like I wasn’t heading there anyway, with the world I lived in. But if there’s the tiniest chance that he might still be saved... I _can’t_ give up on him. You have to understand.”

Emotions ripple across Somnus’ face— Prompto recognises something like fondness, which he’s seen on those familiar features so many times.

And then his expression hardens, and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Prompto,” he says. “Ardyn cannot be allowed to hurt anyone else.”

Prompto frowns. “Well, I don’t see how you’re going to stop him.”

Somnus takes a deep breath and pulls away. As he rises to stand, he seems to shed the playful demeanour of the man— the friend— that Prompto has come to know, holding his head high.

“The Astrals must know what to do. I will meet with Lady Aera to discuss it.”

Prompto doesn’t understand. He stands up too, and goes to get his messenger bag. “The Astrals got us into this mess. I’ll come with you.”

Somnus puts out a hand, his grip gentle but firm on Prompto’s arm.

“You should stay here,” he says. “It’s safer.”

“I can take care of myself!” Frustrated, Prompto pulls his arm away. “You can’t stop me from coming with you.”

He sees the way Somnus’ eyes flash; watches him straighten up and stand tall, his hands clenched at his sides.

“I can,” he says, “and I will. I’m prince regent, Prompto— and with Ardyn missing, it’s my duty more than ever to protect my subjects. _Including you._ The abbess will agree you’re safer here.”

“Are you... are you _locking me up?”_ Prompto asks in disbelief.

“Of course not,” Somnus says. “You can wander the temple grounds freely and carry out your duties as usual, until Ardyn is found.”

“And what will you do with him once you’ve found him? You said it yourself, they’re out for his _blood_ , Somnus!” Prompto shouts. His hands curl into fists at his sides. “And me... I’m just gonna be stuck in the temple forever like some sort of princess in a tower? Waiting for someone to tell me it’s safe to live my life?”

“I know what it’s like, Prompto! Don’t you think I was terrified every time Ardyn went off on his pilgrimages, that he’d never come back? That the next person to walk through the doors of the throne room would be a messenger, come to deliver the bad news?”

Somnus’ cheeks are red; his chest heaves. He takes a breath, slow and shaky, and closes his eyes.

“If you go after him, and he hurts you,” he says, “there’ll be no redeeming him. I would kill him _myself.”_

Prompto’s breath catches in his throat.

He knows this is a fight he can’t win. Not with Somnus like this, falling apart but still the prince, the _king_ he’s been made to be. Not when Somnus says things that make Prompto’s heart ache like it’s breaking.

He can trust Somnus with his life, but not with the truth. If Somnus ever found out the extent of what Ardyn would become, what he’d do to Prompto and all the people of Lucis and of Eos itself, he would kill him on sight.

In saving Ardyn, Prompto is entirely alone.

He swallows audibly and ducks his head. “Okay,” he whispers. He stretches out his arms for a hug, and silently hopes Somnus will forgive him for the lie. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for sticking with us so long, we're finally getting into the meat of things haha. This is just a quick announcement to let you know that we need to take a break from the weekly updates for a bit, as real life has gotten in the way. I hope you understand, and hopefully the break won't be too long, just enough for us to sort through stuff and make sure the next chapters are up to scratch. So sorry for leaving you hanging but thank you for your patience! :D

**Author's Note:**

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